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L I B R.AR.Y 

OF THL 

UNIVERSITY 

or ILLINOIS 

B4GAo 
V.7L 




NEW THREE-VOLUME NOVELS AT 
EVERY LIBRARY. 

PRINCESS NAPRAXINE. By Ouida. 

DOROTHY FORSTER. By Walter Besant. 

ST. MUNGO'S CITY. By Sarah Tytler. 

THE NEW ABELARD. By Robert Buchanan. 

A REAL QUEEN. By R. E. Francillon. 

FANCY-FREE. By Charles Gibbon. 

THE WAY OF THE WORLD. By David Christie 
Murray. 

CHATTO AND WINDUS, Piccadilly, W. 



DOROTHY FORSTER 



:K ^0bel 



By WALTER BESANT 

AUTHOR OF 'aLL^SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN,' ' THE CAPTAINS* ROOM, 
'all IN A GARDEN FAIR,' ETC. 




IN THREE VOLUMES 
VOL. IL 



ilontKon 

CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY 

1884 

[.■4// rights reserved] 



^^3 



CONTENTS OF VOL. II 






CHAPTER 

XII. FRANK RADCLIFFE - 

XIII. CHRISTMAS EVE 

XIV. CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT 
XV. NEW year's DAY - 

XVI. A STRANGE THING - 
XVII. HE LOVES ME 
XVIII. A CASE OF CONSCIENCE 

XIX. MY DECISION 
XX. HER ladyship's LETTER - 

XXL MR. HILYARD'S DREAM 
XXII. THE FUGITIVE 
XXIIL WHAT WILL HE DO ? 
XXIV. THE MEETING AT GREENRIG 

XXV. THE FIRST DAYS - 



PAGE 
1 

17 

39 

67 

83 

104 

119 

138 

170 

188 

211 

231 

245 

261 



DOROTHY FORSTER. 



CHAPTER XII. 

•FKANK RADCLIFFE. 

The second of the brothers came seldom. 
He was a grave lad : he neither laughed nor 
made merry, nor rode a-hunting like his two 
brothers. In figure he was the tallest of 
the three ; but stooped in walking, so that 
he seemed the shortest. He was possessed 
of a strange melancholy, of which he was 
never quite free, although sometimes he would 
seem to shake it off and talk bravely for a 
while. He was like his uncle, Colonel 
Thomas Eadcliffe, in his temperament, being 
as moody and as full of strange fancies. 

* It is a disease,' said Mr. Hilyard, speak- 
ing of Francis Radcliffe's melancholia, 'for 

VOL. II. 20 



2 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

which there is no known remedy, while the 
causes are subtle and manifold. The patients 
are subject to strange fancies and illusions ; 
some have thought themselves made of glass 
and others of feathers ; some are held down 
Vv^ith fears, and others inflated like bladders 
with wild hopes ; some suffer the curse of 
Apuleius, in that dead men's bones are always 
held before them : a strange disease indeed. 
Yet melancholy men, as Aristotle insisteth, 
are often witty.' 

Mr. Hilyard, therefore, regarded this young 
gentleman with a peculiar curiosity, and loved 
nothing so much as to talk with him and 
learn his thoughts. First of all he discovered 
that this boy was strangely given to the 
study of all books which he could find upon 
the unseen world, such as books on oracles, 
conjuring, of spirits, predictions, astrology, 
and so forth. On meeting encouragement he 
opened his mind to Mr. Hilyard and took 
counsel with him. There was no- subject in 
the world, I believe, in which our most 
ingenious Oxford scholar was not versed. 
Therefore Frank learned from him how to 
conjure spirits, raise the dead, cast nativities, 



FRANK RADCLIFFE. 3 

and so forth, and that is to say, all that 
books can teach. 

* Which is,' Mr. Hilyard said, ' everything 
except the essential. I mean, Mr. Kadcliife, 
that you may question the stars, but you 
must read their answer yourself, because they 
are silent ; and you may question the dead 
— these books tell you how — but I doubt if 
they will reply.' 

Nevertheless they began to amuse them- 
selves with casting horoscopes and nativities, 
erecting celestial figures and the houses of 
heaven ; Mr. Hilyard -all the time protesting 
that the thing was a foolish invention, and 
useful only in that it taught something of the 
planetary courses. Yet he, like his pupil, 
watched anxiously for the event ; and when, 
not in one case only, that of Frank himself, 
but also of the Earl and my brother Tom, 
the future which they hoped to find lovely 
and fortunate came out gloomy and threaten- 
ing, all the signs menacing, Mr. Hilyard 
became terrified and would have no more of 
it, saying that though it was a vain thing, 
yet to continue in it might be the sin of 
tempting Providence, such as that committed 

20—2 



4 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

by Saul ; and that as for him, he would 
ask of the stars no more. Now if the future 
they had seen in this mirror of coming time 
had been bright and happy, would they have 
ceased to inquire ? I think not ; and strange 
it is that this thing which so many learned 
men and philosophers teach us to despise, 
is yet on occasion believed in even by them- 
selves. 

We had many conversations upon these 
subjects, which, like the tales of ghosts, are 
always curious to people of every age and 
rank. Mr. Hilyard, after speaking of the 
practice among the ancients, one day dis- 
coursed upon the common and vulgar methods 
practised by people in all countries and in 
times ancient and modern. 

* Some, for instance,' he said, * look in a 
magic ball of glass, when they see not only 
the future but also the present, and what 
is being done in far countries. Others fill 
a basin with water, and behold the same 
as in a mirror. Others read the future by 
dreams, and others by cards ; while by 
the flight and number of birds, the crowing 
of cocks, the first words heard in the morning, 



FRANK RADCLIFFE, 5 

the luck of the day is determined. Some 
have placed barley on the letters of the 
alphabet, and noted the order in which a 
fowl will pick up the ears/ 

*My maid Jenny,' I said, ^ reads fortunes 
by the hand.' 

* It is palmistry,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'and 
a most curious art, though, like the rest, 
it is vain and useless; while, it hath been 
held by some, the Lord hath stamped the 
future of man upon every feature^ so that, 
if we could learn it, we might read in the 
curve of an eyebrow, the lines of the lips, 
the turn sji the chin, a sure and certain 
prognostic of what will happen to us before 
we die. With your permission, Miss Dorothy, 
we will examine the girl in this matter.' 

Jenny was called, and I asked her first 
to read my hand. She replied, looking 
ashamed, that she had i^ad it many times ; 
but when I commanded her to tell me what 
she saw there, she hesitated and changed 
colour, and then replied, like a gipsy at a 
fair when you cross her hand with a groat, 
that there was a fair young gentleman of 
a great estate, and that she saw a wedding- 



6 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

ring and happiness as long as a summer 
day, with beautiful children. But it was 
manifest that she said what she thought 
would please me. Then Mr. Hilyard bade 
her look at Mr. Frank's hand, into which 
she peered long and with a strange curiosity. 
After a while she dropped his hand, and 
turned to Mr. Hilyard, saying : 

' Now yours, sir,' and read it glibly as 
if from a book, saying, *The line of life is 
long, but the course of love is crossed. There 
is wealth for you, and honour ; but no wife 
and no children. No one hath everything.' 

* But mine,' cried Frank, — * what is 
mine ?' 

But she replied not, running away. 
When afterwards I rebuked her, she ac- 
knowledged that she could not tell him what 
she read, so bad and unlucky it was. She 
also told me that her grandmother, the old 
gipsy woman of whom I have spoken, had 
also told the fortune of Mr. Frank by cards, 
and that it came the same as her own telling, 
which made me marvel. 

' Ask no more,' said Mr. Hilyard ; ' and 
you, girl, keep these things to yourself, else 



FRANK RADCLIFFE. 



the people will get strange notions into their 
heads/ 

The people had already got into their 
heads strange notions. First this girl of 
mine had filled the place with the terror of 
the ghosts she saw. Next it was said that 
she was a witch, and ought to be thrown into 
a pond. Perhaps that would have been 
done, but for fear of us. Then it was said 
that she had bewitched a certain young 
fellow of the place named Job Oliver, a hind. 
They told Mr. Hilyard that Job would do 
whatever foolish things Jenny told him to 
do ; that he would sometimes rise when she 
was not in the company, and say that Jenny 
called him, and so go to her ; that he looked 
not as he was wont to look, but went about 
with eyes distracted and trembling hands. 

* She is a witch,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'just 
as all women are witches ; and she hath be- 
witched this foolish lad. But the only arts, I 
think, are those which she practises in com- 
mon with all her sex, namely, her eyes and 
her face. In a word, the fellow is in 
love.' 

I spoke to her on the subject, and she con- 



8 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

fessed, though she looked confused, that it 
was as Mr. Hilyard said, and that if the man 
chose to be in love with her she could not 
help it ; perhaps he did and said foolish 
things, but she could not help that either; 
and he must do what he pleased. The girl 
was saucy about it, but yet one could not 
reprove her, because it makes every woman 
saucy and self-conceited, when a man is in 
love with her. When she crossed the 
quadrangle or entered any of their houses, 
the people looked askance and put thumb in 
fingers, but yet were monstrous civil, because 
they feared her. Witch or not, she did none 
of them any harm (I do not believe that a 
pig which died at this time was overlooked 
by her, though this was charged upon her). 
As for Job, after we went away he presently 
recovered, looked about him, became once 
more a cheerful wight, forgot his enchantress, 
and married another woman, who made him 
happy in such sort as rustics understand 
happiness ; that is to say, every year a 
thumping boy or girl, and every Sunday a 
great dish of fat bacon. And as for Jenny 
herself, she paid no heed to what was 



FRANK RADCLIFFE. 9 

thought, but went about with an impudent 
answer for all except her mistress, and a- 
saucy laugh, and singing as she went, as if 
there was no such thing in the world at all 
as witchcraft, and she had no powers and 
gifts above those generally conferred upon 
young maids — namely, the bewitching of eyes 
and face, soft speech, and lovely limbs. Yet 
all the time a deceitful hussy. I knew not 
then, though I learned afterwards, that she 
met Frank RadclifFe secretly, and taught 
him, I believe, her arts of prediction, and 
even sent him to see her wicked old grand- 
mother (who I am quite sure was another 
Witch of Endor), when the camp came once 
to Hexham. What they told him, between 
them, I know not ; but in the end it became 
manifest what a gipsy woman can do when a 
young gentleman is foolish enough to listen 
to her wiles. 

Not knowing these things, I begged Frank 
to give up this pursuit of his, as a useless, 
idle, and curious practice. He acknowledged 
that the priest gave him similar admonition, 
but yet that he continued, though he knew 
that he was wrong. Eeligion forbids it, that 



10 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

is most sure ; if the art were sure and 
certain, he is foolish, indeed, who seeks to 
know the coming misery, or anticipates the 
coming happiness. Let us only live in the 
present, looking forward with sure and certain 
hope to the life where there will be no 
shedding of tears or thought of trouble. 
Why could not Frank let the future alone ? 
The present, which he spoiled by this 
curiosity, should have been to him full of 
happiness, because he had everything that 
the world has to give — youth, health, 
strength, riches, and a good heart. What 
•more doth God give to any ? 

' Why,' said Frank, ' what am I to do ? 
There is nothing in this country for a Catholic 
gentleman to do. We may not hold com- 
missions in the army ; we cannot act as 
magistrates ; we cannot enter the Universities ; 
we cannot go into Parliament ; we can hold 
no office, and are cut off from all employment. 
What wonder if some of us sit down to drink 
and hunt, and nothing more ? Why should 
the country be afraid of a handful of gentle- 
men who have kept their old faith T 

Truly it was a hard ease ; yet what to do ? 



FRANK RADCLIFFE. ii 

We must not have the Pope's subjects in our 
Houses of Parliament. 

' Well,' he went on, * what am I to do with 
myself ? I am a younger son, with a younger 
son's portion— enough, but not great riches. 
You have shut up all the doors ; you treat us 
with suspicion and contempt ; you call us 
Papists. I knew not till we came home how 
despised a creature is an English Catholic' 

' Nay,' I said, for the young man had 
worked himself into a passion, and the tears 
were in his eyes, ' you have but to ride 
through any village in Northumberland to see 
the contempt with which a Eadclifife is re- 
garded. Fie, Master Frank ! you have been 
abroad so long that you know not the English 
heart. It may be, as yo\i say, that the 
Catholics are excluded from civil rights. Is 
it not because it is believed that you love 
Pope first and King second ? But it cannot 
be that there is nothing for you to do.' 

' Oh yes,' he said bitterly, ' there is always 
something. I may go to Douay, and so 
presently come back with shaven crown, and 
even be made some day, if I am fortunate, a 
Bishop in partihus.' 



12 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

All this was true. There were here three 
brothers rich in gifts and graces. The eldest 
should have been a great statesman, the 
second a great scholar, and the third a soldier. 

Yet because their grandfather chose to 
remain in the old religion, when the people 
were ordered to change for the new (because 
it is foolish to suppose that all the country 
gentlemen and the very rustics and hinds had 



to' 



17 



wit and learning wherewith to argue for or 
against the faith), they were all condemned 
to idleness. "Wherefore the eldest, who had 
the estates, the w^ealth, and the power, re- 
solved on spending his life in good w^orks, 
and the advancement of the poor committed 
to his trust ; and the second became melan- 
chol}^, and troubled himself about things 
hidden from mankind ; and the third — he 
was only a boy as yet — w^as going to become 
a beau, and to follow all the pleasures of the 
town. Why, what a waste of gifts was here ! 
And all for the Mass which stood between. 

' As for my lord,' said Tom, * he is very 
well. He rides as straight as can be expected. 
His shooting will improve, and no doubt he 
will learn to put his money on matches and 



FRANK RADCLIFFE, 13 

fights, though at present he cares little about 
such sport. And as for Charles, it is a 
promising boy and well-plucked. But as for 
Frank, he does nothing at all ; he will neither 
laugh, nor sing, nor drink, nor hunt — what is 
to be done with him ? Tony, he loves your 
company. Can you make nothing of him? 
Can you not even make him drink T 

* Indeed, sir,' said Mr. Hilyard, Hhe 
English law opens to a young gentleman 
who is a Papist no opportunity at all for 
distinction. He must therefore either be 
made a priest or remain a sportsman. He 
has his choice between a saint and a cock- 
fighter. Mr. Frank, though born to be a 
scholar, has little calling to the saintly pro- 
fession, and none at all fol cock-fio-htinof. 
So that unless lie changes his disposition or 
his creed, he is likely to remain in his present 
melancholy.' 

'As for the cure of melancholy,' Mr. 
Hilyard went on, ' there are many things 
enumerated by the learned Burton. Borage, 
for instance, or bugloss, of which Helena's 
famous bowl was made, after drinking which 
she felt no grief or remorse ; marigold, put 



14 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

into broth ; hop, which may be infused into 
ale, and taken by melancholy men with 
advantage ; betony, the root of which is 
sovereign for the causing of mirth ; penny- 
royal, wormwood, and other herbs, any of 
which may be taken by Mr. Francis without 
fear.' 

* Give him,' said Tom, ' a bowl of punch 
after a day's hunting ; make him dance after 
a pretty woman. A fig for all your herbs, 
and broths, and messes, Tony ! Betony for 
the causing of mirth ! Why, then, to-night, 
instead of whisky punch you may have a mess 
of betony.' 

But Frank Piadcliflfe's case was beyond the 
reach of herbs, and not even a bowl of punch 
would help — partly because he could not 
drink punch. 

I spoke about him to my lord, who owned 
that he could do nothing for his brother. 

' There is among us a strain of melancholy. 
My uncle, Thomas Eadcliffe, hath , it, and 
cannot be cured, though he wears a chalce- 
dony in a ring, and hath taken medicines of 
all kinds, both simple and mineral, yet none 
to cure him. I doubt not Frank will be like 



FRANK RADCLIFFE. 15 

him. Yet it is a good sign that he some- 
times leaves the library to come here. The 
law, of which he justly complains, is hard 
upon us all. Yet we cannot alter it by 
crying. The Jesuit Fathers made of him a 
great scholar, and wanted to make him one 
of themselves, and in the end a priest — nay, 
perhaps a Bishop, or even a Cardinal. 
Higher than that one need not look unless 
one is an Italian, when the Triple Crown 
itself of Christ's Vicar on earth is possible. 
It is long since we had a Bishop in the 
family, and a Cardinal never. But if Frank 
will not, he must content himself with having 
such amusements as he can find for himself 
which will please a simple scholar and a 
private gentleman. He wilk grow wiser and 
merrier in time as he grows older. Mean- 
time, we are as yet strangers in the country, 
and have much to learn. For the people are 
not like the people whence we have come ; 
the gentlemen are not like those at St. 
Germain's ; the ladies are not like those my 
mother (who hath never seen the north) 
taught me to expect — namely, hoops and 
patches and courtesies and fine sayings, 



1 6 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

instead of Arcadian shepherdesses, and the 
charms of Nature — and fair Dorothy/ 

Alas ! To think that the melancholy of 
this unhappy young gentleman was caused 
hy so humble and insignificant a person as 
my maid Jenny. Yet, strange as it seems, 
there is, in fact, no person in the world so 
humble and so insignificant — not even a 
shepherd boy, a hind, a stable-help, a 
scullion — but he can do mischief. The 
story how one was so desirous to achieve 
fame and so helpless by himself, being dull 
of understanding and unlearned, that he was 
fain to fire and destroy the noblest temple in 
Asia Minor, the ruins of which remain to 
this da}^ and have been seen by travellers, is, 
I think, an allegory. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

CHRISTMAS EVE. 

Now I come to tell of a fortnight of so much 
happiness that I can never forget it, or tire of 
remembering it. Every day — nay, every 
hour of that happy time, lives still Jn my 
mind, though it is now nearly thirty years 
ago, and I, who was then eighteen, am now 
well-nigh fifty, and am no more beautiful. 
This matters not, and before long, if it 
please merciful Heaven, I shall be beautiful 
again. This time was so happy to me 
because it changed an admirer into a lover, 
and a woman who waits for love into a 
woman who has received love. Call me not 
an old maid, I pray you, though I am no 
wedded wife and mother of a husband's 
children, because I have enjoyed the love of 
a man and exchanged with him those sweet 

VOL. II. 21 



i8 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

endearments which are innocent and lawful 
between a young man and a maid who love 
each other. She alone is an old maid who 
hath never been wooed ; into whose eyes no 
lover hath gazed to rob her of her heart ; 
whose hands have never been pressed ; whose 
ears have never listened to the fond exaggera- 
tions with which a lover pleads his passion, 
and tries to tell how great and deep it is, 
though words fail. But, as for me, I have 
been loved by many, and I have loved one — 
yea, I have loved him — alas ! alas ! — with 
all my heart and with all my soul ; yet, I 
hope and pray, with innocency of heart, so 
that this my passion may not be laid to my 
charge, for though I loved him well, I loved, 
or tried to love, my God better. And this, 
too, I will show you. 

The time was Christmas. My lord kept 
open house at Dilston for his friends and 
cousins, as many as chose to come (but he 
invited Tom and me) ; his farmers and 
tenants, and all the poor people around, even 
counting those of Hexham, so generous he 
was. During all the time from Christmas to 
Candlemas there was nothing but the roasting 



CHRISTMAS EVE, 19 

of beef and the eating of it, with the drink- 
ing of ale and everyday amusements such as 
men of all sorts and conditions love : as 
quarterstaff, cudgels, wrestling, fighting with 
dogs and cocks, and so forth ; the people of 
the town flocking to see it — the gentlemen 
not ashamed of getting a bloody crown from 
a rustic champion ; the rustics proud to 
prove their mettle before the gentlemen, and 
pleased to drink to them afterwards. A 
busy and lively time — the maids running 
about to see the shows, and more eager to 
witness a wrestling-match than to do the 
dairy-work ; the grooms talking and playing 
with the girls, and no one reproaching them ; 
no one zealous for work but the cooks and 
serving-women, who had a hard time of it, 
poor souls, continually roasting,- boiling, 
laying of cloths, bringing of meat, carving it 
for hungry men, carrying pails of beer an:l 
pouring it out into the brown jugs with their 
great heads of foam. Yet none grumbled : 
the more they served the merrier they be- 
came. Cooks are only happy when they arc 
at work ; between whiles they are irritable, 
short of temper, and grumbling at the hard- 

21—2 



20 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

ships of their lots and the shortcomings of 
scullions. But when they are bending over 
stew-pots and griddles, they are truly happy. 
Perhaps a sense of the blessings of plenty at 
such times is felt by their souls, so that, in a 
way we little regard, they may be lifted 
upward by the contemplation of a rib or 
sirloin, with fat and lean in goodly show. I 
have seen a cook gaze upon a leg of mutton 
with tears in her eyes, as one who hears a 
sweet strain of music, or considers the picture 
of a handsome man. 

A girl who goes on a visit to so grand a 
house as Dilston, among ladies who have lived 
in London and gentlemen who know the 
splendours of a Court, is naturally troubled 
about her clothes, and thinks a great deal 
beforehand of the fine things she has to 
show. It would have gone hard with me, 
whose frocks were all of country-make and 
most of rough and cheap material (my 
petticoats for daily wear of homespun), but 
for the late visit of Lady Crewe. For I had 
no pin-money of my own, or any allowance 
from my father, who considered that I now 
belonged to Tom and her ladyship. For- 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 21 

tunately I am clever with my needle, and so 
was my maid Jenny. Tom, poor fellow, had 
no money to give, because he spent it all in 
his amusements ; all, that is, which he got 
from Durham. Besides, most men, though 
they are careful about their flowered waist- 
coats and gold buckles, seem to think that 
for women brocade grows wild on every 
hedge, and satin hangs in rolls from every 
tree. Now before she went away Lady 
Crewe called me to her room, and then, after 
causing me to be measured (which showed 
that we were both of a height), she brought 
out a great parcel of fine things — treasures, 
they seemed to me — saying kindly : 

' Child, the granddaughter of Sir William 
Forster, of Bamborough, sftould be able to 
go as fine as her neighbours. Since thy 
brother loves to have thee with him, it shall 
be the care of thy mother's sister to see thee 
dressed becomingly on occasion, so that no 
one, gentle or simple, may think that a 
Forster is not as good a lady as any in the 
county.' 

Had it not been for this munificent gift, 
which came in pudding- time, so to speak. 



22 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

I should have gone to Dilston crying instead 
of laughing, because my petticoats were so 
short and my best frock so shabby. Alas ! 
we grow old, and line things, which once 
set off rosy cheeks and bright eyes, only 
serve now to hide the ravages of time. 

So that, thanks to the kindness of Lady 
Crewe, I could reflect without dismay upon 
the grand dresses of the ladies Katharine and 
Mary ; and though the day on which we rode 
across the dark moor to Dilston was so cold, 
with driving sleet and a bitter wind, that 
my horse was led and my face kept covered 
with a hood, my heart was quite warm when 
I remembered that on one of the pack-horses 
behind (I was fain to brave the blast in order 
to look back and see that the animal had 
not been blown away) were safely packed my 
silk-quilted petticoat, altered to fit my waist, 
and none could tell that it was not new ; 
my French girdle, very pretty ; my sable 
tippet lined with Italian lute-string ; my,velvet 
frock, made for Lady Crewe in London by a 
Court dressmaker, and very cunningly altered 
for me by Jenny — that girl should have 
made her fortune in dressmaking ; my cambric 



CHRISTMAS EVE, 23 

and laced handkerchiefs, laced tuckers and 
ruffles, French kid gloves, very fine (Tom 
gave me these, having bought them at 
Newcastle one day when he rode and won 
a match of twenty pounds a side) ; my satin 
apron ; my French d-la-mocle hood ; my 
petticoat and mantua of French brocade ; 
my cherry-coloured stays ; and, for morning 
wear, my frocks of painted lawn, checkered 
shade, and watered tabby. As for my head- 
dress, I had considered this important subject 
with Jenny, and resolved that I would wear 
(as most suitable for my age and unmarried 
condition) a low coiffure, with falling lappets, 
such as Jenny could easily arrange, even 
though the elder ladies should think fit 
to appear every day in 4iigh commodes. 
I was also happy in the possession of an 
etui, which had been my grandmother's — 
a vastly pretty thing, with a gold watch, 
and places for scissors, knife, pencil, ivory 
tablets, box for thimble, another for aromatic 
vinegar, and a third for perfume (my favourite 
was from childhood the same as Lady Crewe's, 
namely, bergamot), and a multitude of pretty, 
old-fashioned things worked in gold, such 



24 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

as little birdcages, eggs, tiny aucliors, and 
so forth, and a seal with the family coat 
of arms and the Forster legend : 

' Let us dearly then hold 
To mind their worthiness, 
That which our parents old 
Hath left us to possess.' 

Enough said of a simple girl's finery, though 
in truth it made me happy at the time to 
think that I could stand among great ladies 
and not be ashamed of my homely dress. 
Perhaps it makes me happy still (or rather 
less sorrowful) to remember the things which 
caused my first happiness. Mr. Hilyard (he 
came with us) says that a great Italian 
poet declares that the memory of past 
gladness makes more sad the present sorrow. 
It is presumptuous to set up an opinion 
against a poet ; but this is very certain, 
that there is one woman to- whom all her 
consolation (besides the hope of the future) 
lies in the memory of the past. Why is 
joy, which comes so rarely and flies so 
swiftly, given to men except to be a lasting 
memory and consolation ? The summer of 
our North Country is short, and the winter 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 25 

is long ; yet all the year round we think 
of the sunshine, and in the cold winter eat 
with gratitude the fruits and harvests of 
the summer. So should it be with our hours, 
d^ys, or years of happiness. In the cold 
winter which follows — love fled, friends dead, 
fortune lost, pride destroyed — our hearts 
should be warmed and our pains consoled 
by the mere thinking upon the vanished 
joys, just as I still think upon my stay at 
Dilston. Shall not an old man comfort 
himself with thinking of his former strength, 
and an old woman with the thought of her 
former beauty ? I myself, being now in 
middle life and no longer comely, remember 
with grateful joy that my beauty once gave 
pleasure to all who looked upon it, loveliness 
in woman being, like the gracious sunshine, 
a gift for all alike, even to those who value 
it least and are insensible to its delight. 
To be sure, in those days I knew nothing 
of the pleasure which all men feel, rich 
and poor, young and old alike, though some 
are more insensible than others, in the contem- 
plation of a lovely woman, so that some 
have beautiful faces painted on their snuff- 



26 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

boxes, and do gaze upon them constantly, 
even to the wasting of then' time and the 
troubling of their heads, as the Greek 
gazed upon and fell in love with, and pined 
for, his statue, until Yenus changed the 
marble into flesh ; though it hath never been 
related that a miracle was wrought with a 
snuff-box, and one has never heard that a 
painted face has been transformed into a 
beauteous damsel. 

Well, Dilston was reached at last, after 
that cold ride ; and you may be sure that 
Tom Forster bawled lustily for hot mulled 
ale. We found the castle full of the Eadcliffes, 
and all the great house astir with guests and 
servants and preparations for the feast. 

My expectations proved true. The ladies 
Katharine and Mary were richly dressed 
indeed ; yet with something sombre and 
nun-like, as was^ said to be affected by 
Madame de Maintenon, the French King's 
wife. The gentlemen were dressed in the 
plain Northumberland fashion, except the 
Earl and his two brothers, who, after the 
manner in which they were brought up, 
dressed with great richness ; even Charles, 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 27 

tlie youngest — who was not yet at his full 
height, and only fifteen years of age, and 
wore his own hair tied behind with a crimson 
ribbon — had a silk coat, a flowered waistcoat, 
white silk stockings, and red-heeled shoes. 
Everybody was so good as to compliment 
me on the appearance which I made. Even 
the ladies kindly said that, though my maid 
was only a country girl, she had so dressed 
my hair as to give it a modish look, and 
that no one could have looped my frock 
better, or shown a richer petticoat. 

' It is the first Christmas we have spent 
at home,' said the Earl. ^ We must forget 
none of the old customs of the country. 
Besides, they are all Catholic customs, which 
is another reason for keeping*them up.' 

'Mr. Hilyard, my lord/ T said, 'will have 
it that many of these are pagan, though 
transferred to Catholicism, and long ago 
adopted by the Church.' 

He laughed, and called me an obstinate 
little Puritan. 

The supper was served in the great hall, 
decked with holly and mistletoe ; a Yule-log 
was blazing upon the hearth ; the side-tables 



28 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

were dazzling with the Eadcliffe plate ; and 
the tables were covered with Yule-cakes, 
which are, in the north, shaped like a baby, 
and Christmas pies in form of a cradle, not 
to speak of goose-pies, shrid or mince pies, 
caraway-cakes, brawn, sirloins, turkeys, ca- 
pons, hams and gammons, pheasants, part- 
ridges, hares, and everything good and fit for 
man's delight. When all was ready and the 
company assembled, they brought in the 
boar's head, maids and men following, all 
lustily singing — 

' Nowell, Nowell. 
Tidings good I have to tell' 

There were but moderate potations at the 
supper, but some of the gentlemen made up 
for it afterwards ; and when supper was 
done, the company all left the table together 
and sat down to cards, which must never be 
omitted on Christmas Eve, if you never touch 
a card on any other day. There was a 
basset-table, and a quadrille-table, and a pool 
of commerce. I played at the last with my 
lord, Charles, and others ; and I won twelve 
shillings, which made me tremble to think 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 29 

what I should have done if I had lost so 
much. Indeed, I had not so much as twelve 
shillings in the world. After the cards we 
played another game — everybody to say what 
most he loved and least he liked. In such 
a history as this it would be folly to record 
how my lord vowed that most he loved 
Dorothy's smiles, and most he dreaded 
Dorothy's frowns. Nevertheless, it must be 
owned that these compliments are pretty 
things ; they keep up the spirits and courage 
of a girl, and her good opinion of herself, 
which is a great thing. Mr. Errington, of 
Beaufront, who was one of the company, 
said many pleasant things, pretending to be 
twenty years younger, and to mistake me for 
my aunt, the beautiful Dorothy Forster, whose 
suitor he had been. Of course I knew that 
he flattered me ; but yet I was pleased. To 
have such, pretty things said by so old a man 
is like a sweet golden russet of last year in 
the month of April. As for Charles Eadcliffe, 
that mad boy swore loudly that he would be 
Miss Dorothy's knight, and pranced about 
singing, with gestures like a Frenchman, that 
sweet old song : 



30 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

• Charmante Gabrielle, 

Perce de mille dards, 
Quand la gloire m'appelle 

A la suite de Mars, 
Cruelle departie ! 

Malheiireiix jour ! 
Que ue suis je sans vie 

Ou sans amour 1' 

*We are in England, Charles/ said his 
brother ; ' we are at home. Let us have no 
French songs/ 

For some of the gentlemen looked dis- 
satisfied. The language of gallantry and 
compliment was not greatly to their liking, 
and Tom even hurst out a-laughing at hearing 
his sister so praised and complimented. This 
made me blush far more than any compli- 
ment. One does not expect of a brother the 
praises and flatteries of a suitor ; but at least 
he should not be wholly insensible to a 
sister's beauty, or laugh at men who praise 
it. But then Tom always loved his gun, his 
horse, his dog, and his bottle better than 
any woman. Presently he went away, with 
most of the others, to sit over the wine, and 
there were only left my lord and his brothers, 
the ladies, Mr. Howard, the old priest, and 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 31 

Mr. Errington ; and these, left to themselves, 
sat about the fire and told stories suitable to 
the time of year. 

Strange, indeed, that men should be so 
venturesome as to doubt the truth of what 
hath been most abundantly proved ! Yet 
Lord Derwentwater laughed at the stories of 
the Northumberland ghosts, for no other 
reason than that they had no ghosts at St. 
Germain's. But Mr. Howard, who had lived 
in the county before, and knew, shook his 
head, and the ladies looked at each other 
with surprise, and Mr. Errington solemnly 
reproved this doubter. 

' My lord,' he said, * there is not a North- 
umbrian, man, woman, or chiid, that believes 
not in the appearance of apparitions ; nay, 
most of us have ourselves seen them. You 
have spent your youth in towns and Courts 
where, to be sure, there is little chance of 
meeting fairies. When you have learned the 
savage wildness of the moors, the solitude of 
the woods, and the silence of the long winter 
nights, you will speedilybe converted, and doubt 
no more. Northumberland, without her ghosts 
and fairies, would be but half populated.' 



32 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

' Truly/ said the Earl, ' one ghost, methinks, 
were as efficacious as a hundred for the con- 
version of a doubter.' 

He then spread a cushion on the carpet, 
and sat or lay upon it at my feet, saying : 

* In France they call them old wives' 
tales. Let us hear of our North-country 
ghosts from young lips. Tell us some of 
your most frightful, Miss Dorothy.' 

Thus invited, I was greatly confused ; but 
with the assistance of Mr. Errington, who 
helped me, and suggested one history after 
the other, I boldly began upon the stories 
current among the people, and substantiated 
by evidence which cannot be denied : videlicet, 
that of the persons who themselves have seen 
the visions and appearances described. 

The Earl knew nothing. He had been 
allowed to grow up in a most astonishing 
ignorance of the county ghosts. As for his 
brother Frank, he already knew something, 
having perhaps learned it (though of this I 
was then ignorant) of Jenny Lee and of others, 
being a youth of inquiring mind, who asked 
questions. It was astonishing to think that 
a Eadcliffe should grow to years of manhood 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 



Z^ 



without having heard even of the Laidly 
Worm of Spindleston Heugh, or the Seeker 
of Dunstanburgh, or the fairies brought to 
Fawdon Hill by the Crusaders, or of King 
Arthur at Sewingshields, the Monk of Blink- 
burn, Jeannie of Haselriggj or Meg of 
Maldon. 

' Let us all,' said my lord, * go seek in 
Dunstanburgh, and dig into the earth at 
Sewingshields. Yet stay, how would King 
Arthur agree with the Prince, should both 
return together ? Methinks we must first 
consult his Highness. Go on, fair story-teller.' 

Then I began to tell of things more certain ; 
not so ancient, and witnessed by people still 
surviving. Then the two old ladies, who 
knew better than myself' the stories of 
Northumberland, nodded their heads, caught 
each othej by the hands, held their breath, 
shook forefingers at their nephew, and asked 
in the pauses between the stories, ' Was there 
ever before a Kadcliffe who had to be taught 
these things at one-and-twenty T Pretty it 
was to see how much these ladies thought of 
their nephew, and how their kind eyes rested 
upon him with happiness. 

VOL. II. 22 



34 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

Also, while I told my tales, I saw how 
Frank listened, with large sad eyes, and 
sighed, as if for the mere pleasure of listening 
to such stories, as one who was for ever con- 
sidering how to converse with the dwellers 
of the other world. It was plain that he was 
ready to believe — ay ! and even to see — what- 
ever he was told. Of such are those who 
most frequently behold spectres, see visions, 
and have strange dreams. He breathed 
quickly ; he sighed ; he looked round him as 
if in the dark depths of the great hall, and 
among the figures in armour, behind the 
tapestry, there lurked the very shades and 
appearances about which we were speaking. 
As for old Mr. Errington, he reminded me of 
this story and of that, filled up the details, 
wagged his head, and, like the Lady Mary, 
shook his forefinger at my lord — the Didymus 
or Unbeliever. There was also Mr. Howard, 
the priest — an old man, too, of venerable 
aspect. He sat with his chin upon his hand, 
less occupied with the stories than with gazing 
upon the young lord of all, as he lay at my 
feet, the red light of the fire playing upon his 
face, which was upturned to look upon mine. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 35 

Simple things, yet terrible, are the omens 
and appearances in this haunted county. 

I trembled while I told of the ghostly and 
shadowy hearse which, especially in the 
winter nights, rolls slowly and silently — an 
awful thing to see — up and down the roads 
till it comes to the house where the death is 
going to happen, .and how the farmer once 
going home from market saw the hearse stop 
at his own door, and knew that one of his 
family would die. There were six tall sons, 
each one strong and brave, and three 
daughters, each one beautiful ; and there was 
his wife. Which would be taken ? The 
rest of that story is enough to convert the 
greatest scoffer, as well as to turn the sinner 
to repentance. Then thei^ is the wauf, 
or figure of the person about to die seen by 
another person. Surely it is a most dreadful 
thing to have the power of seeing the wauf, 
for if one sees it, there arises a doubt and 
difficult question : should the person who is 
to die be told of it, or not ? If he be told, he 
may fall into despair ; and if not, then a great 
opportunity of seeking grace for the soul is 
lost. There is also the brag, which may 

22—2 



36 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

assume whatever shape it pleases, as a calf, 
or a bundle of wood, or a hare, or a rick of 
hay, or anything which its tricksy and 
mischievous imagination may choose to order, 
to confound and tease a poor man or woman. 
And then there are the actual ghosts, whose 
number is in our country legion — such as 
Jethro Burnet, the miser, who walks to 
lament the loss of his money-bags ; the 
wretch who hanged himself, and hath since 
found no rest ; the poor girl who was 
murdered, and the man who murdered her — 
the former beside the pool wherein she was 
cast, and the latter by the gibbet, at Amble, 
where he was hanged in chains ; Meg of 
Maldon, who walks of a night between 
Maldon and Hartington ; the poor wretched 
woman who wanders on Hexham Moor at 
night, shrieking and crying (at Blanchland 
she could be heard plainly when the wind 
was high) because she killed her child with 
neglect, and now suffers — one knows not for 
how long — this misery. All these things 
were certainly intended for our admonition 
and warning. Again, there are the white 
figures which sometimes appear to fly from 



CHRISTMAS EVE, yj 

under the foot of the belated traveller ; there 
is the strange and well -authenticated story of 
Nelly the Knocker; that of the Ghost of 
Silky ; that of the fairy changing the little 
dwarf Hobbie ; how a lad going forth one 
night to walk with his sweetheart, found her 
changed into the Devil ; with many other 
strange and true stories, showing what may be 
expected, and hath already been witnessed in 
the county. 

They listened, as has been told. They 
looked fearfully about the room. No one 
thought that in five short years Dilston Hall 
itself would be left to decay, and, in ten 
years more, another mournful figure would be 
added to the troop of Northumberland 
ghosts. 

' This,' said my lord, when I finished, ' is 
a fitting North-country termination of a 
Christmas feast ; to sit after supper and tell 
bugbear tales. Fair narrator ! you have so 
well done your part, that henceforth, I promise 
you, I will accept them all. I doubt no 
longer. If I were to meet Silky herself, I 
should not be surprised. If I heard Nelly 
the Knocker, or saw Meg of Maldon walking 



38 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

in the corridor, or the ghost of my great- 
grandmother ' 

* Nephew,' said Lady Katharine gently, 
* do not mock ; the spirits of our ancestors 
may be round us at this moment, with our 
guardian angels. Vex them not, lest when 
we go to join them, they meet us with angry 
countenance.' 

* Enough of ghosts,' said Mr. Howard. 
' To-morrow is Christmas. It is always the 
time to think about the next world, and some- 
times we may hear these tales, which, true or 
not, help to keep faith alive ; and these are 
times, Master Frank ' — he laid his hand upon 
the boy's shoulder — * when we must rejoice in 
the present, feast, make other people joyful, 
and be glad ourselves.' 



CHAPTEK XIV. 

CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 

Thus began the Christmas, which we kept 
with such royal state. It has been stated 
that this was a political meeting. Nothing 
could be farther from the truth. There was 
not, during the whole time, one word spoken 
concerning politics. It is true that my lord 
treated Tom as a private and especial friend, 
and showed him a very singular kindness 
throughout. It is also true that no two 
gentlemen could be more unlike each other 
than these two ; for, while one was well read 
and loved books, the oth^r knew little save 
what he had been taught, and read nothing 
but Quincy's ' Dispensatory,' and his book on 
* Farriery.' Also, one loved the society of 
ladies, and the other did not ; one cared 
nothing for drinking, which to the other was 



40 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

liis chief delight ; one loved poetry and music, 
which to the other gave little or no pleasure. 
One went habited with due regard to his 
rank, having a valet to dress him ; the other 
was careless of his dress, generally going 
about, on his shooting and other business, in 
great boots and a plain plush coat, stained 
with wine and weather. 

* Friendship,' said Mr. Hilyard, ^commonly 
with young men, goes by opposites. If 
Jonathan resembled his father, he had 
nothing of David's disposition in him ; yet 
were they friends in youth. The great 
Coligny and his mahgnant enemy. Guise, 
were once close friends, each admiring points 
of unlikeness. Perhaps my lord and Mr. 
Forster admire also, each in the other, points 
of unlikeness.' 

Although the party consisted both of 
Catholics and Protestants, there were no dis- 
cussions on that account; for, in North- 
umberland, so many families still belong to 
the old religion that we can meet each other 
without quarrelling. It must not, therefore, 
be thrown in Tom's face that he was a secret 
friend of Papists. This has been said of him 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 41 

witli injustice. In truth there was never a 
stouter Protestant, though his lawful Sovereign 
belongs, unhappily, to the opposite faith. 
Yet so tolerant withal. ' Each,' he would say, 
* for his own religion. Live and let live. But 
not to meddle with the endowments of the 
Church or to suffer Papists and Noncon- 
formists to enter into the Universities.' 

On the evening of Christmas Day there 
was performed for our pleasure the old play of 
' Alexander and the Egyptian King,' by village 
mummers from Hexham and Dilston. The 
mummers were dressed up with ribbons and 
finery in rags and tatters ; on their heads 
they wore gilt-paper crowns ; they carried 
swords, and had a fiddler with them who 
played lustily all the time, whether the 
speakers were delivering their words or not. 

First came the great King Alexander — he 
was a blacksmith by trade, and a very big 
and lusty fellow, who wore a splendid crown 
of gilt paper and a rusty breastplate ; he 
flourished a sword and marched valiantly, 
strutting like a game-cock after a fight. Then 
he pronounced his verses, and brave verses 
they were, though afterwards he quite forgot 



43 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

that he had promised to produce for us Dives 
and a Doctor, The Doctor came in due 
course, but we looked in vain for Dives, and 
a great moral lesson was lost. Everybody 
would like to be rich, yet few know the 
danger of riches or their own weakness in 
temptation. After him came the King of 
Egypt and his son Prince George ; the King 
was stricken in years, and somewhat bent by 
rheumatism and his trade, that of shoe- 
mending ; but the Prince was a lad whom I 
knew for as famous a hand with cudgel or 
quarterstafif as one may hope to see at a 
country fair. There was no reason why he 
should wish to fight Alexander, yet it seemed 
natural that they should, immediately on 
meeting, hurl words of reproach at each 
other and fly to arms. A most terrible and 
bloody fight it was which followed, the 
combatants thwacking and hacking at each 
other in such earnest as made one tremble, 
save for the thought that the swords were 
but stout ash-twigs painted blue, fitter to raise 
great weals than make deep cuts. The 
fiddler, meantime, ran round the pair, shouting 
while he played ; and the King, so far from 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 43 

feeling terror for his son, clapped his hands 
and applauded, as we all did. It was 
arranged that Prince George was to be killed, 
but such was his stubborn nature that he 
refused to lie down until the great conqueror, 
a much heavier man than he, had first 
covered him from top to toe with blows and 
bruises. When at length he lay down, the 
Doctor was called in. This learned man, who 
was the clerk of the parish, impudently 
asserted his ability to cure all diseases, and, 
in proof, restored the Prince to life. Then 
there was another duello between the King 
and the conqueror : the reason of which I 
did not understand, save that it enabled the 
cobbler to show under what unhappy con- 
ditions one bent with his trade has to fight. 
It needs not to say that the cobbler, too, fell 
beneath great Alexander's sword. They bore 
away his body, and all was over. 

* But where is Dives T cried my lord. 
* You promised Dives.' 

The actors looked at one another, and 
presently the blacksmith plucked up courage 
to explain that there never was any Dives 
in the piece at all, though it was true that he 



44 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

was regularly promised in the prologue or 
opening verses. 

'Well,' said my lord, * we will excuse the 
Dives for this once ; and thank you, actors 
all, for a merry tragical piece, in which I 
know not whether most to admire the skill of 
Alexander or the courage of the King who 
dared to meet him. Stand aside, good 
fellows, and let us go on to the next show.' 

Then followed the singers and choristers of 
Hexham, who were ordered to sing none but 
true North-country songs, of which we have 
many, and our people sing them prettily and 
in tune, sometimes one taking treble, and 
another a second, and a third tenor or bass, 
and all with justness, according to time and 
tune very melodiously, the like of which, I 
think, will not be found elsewhere, save in 
cathedrals, such as Durham and other places, 
where anthems are sung. My lord confessed 
that he had never heard anything like this 
rustic singing in France, where the peasants 
sing on holidays ; but not, as our people sing, 
with gravity and earnestness. First they 
sang the song of * The Knight and the 
Lady -: 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 45 

* There was a lady of the North Countrie 
(Lay the bent to the bonny broom), 
And she had lovely daughters three 
(Lay the bent to the bonny broom).' 

After that they sang the * Battle of Otter- 
bourne ;' then the ' Fair Flower of Northum- 
berland ;' and then the ballad of ^ Jock 0' the 
Side ;' and, last, the ' Jolly Huntsman's 
Garland,' beginning : 

' I walked o'er the mountains, 

Where shepherds feed their flocks ; 
I spy'd a troop of gallants 

A- hunting of the fox. 
With clamour and with hollow 

They made the woods to ring ; 
The hounds they bravely follow, 

Making a merry din.' 

All the gentlemen in the company applauded 
this song loudly, and with a ^ Whoop !' and 
* View hollo !' — no talk of fox-hunting, or 
song in its praise, is complete without. They 
knew every verse out of the thirty or forty, 
and the histories, some of which were enter- 
taining, of the gentlemen in honour of whom 
the song was written. Nothing is more 
delightful to one fox-hunter than to talk 
or hear of another. 



46 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

There were other songs, and then all were 
regaled v/ith a present in money and a 
plentiful supper of what they most love at 
Christmastide — namely, a mighty dish of 
lobscouse, which is a mess of beef, potatoes, 
and onions, strong of smell and of taste, 
and therefore grateful to coarse feeders. 
After the lobscouse they had plum-porridge 
and shrid-pies, with as much strong ale 
as they could carry, and more. Yet most 
of them could carry a great deal : Alexander 
the Great went away wdth a barrel or so 
within him, a mere cask of ale ; and the 
King of Egypt was carried from this field of 
honour as from the other. 

One thing I must relate in my lord's 
honour. Among the singers was a plain 
man (yet he had a sweet, rich voice), who 
was pointed out to him as a Percy by descent. 
He was but a stone-cutter, yet a descendant 
in the direct line from Jocelyn, the fourth 
Earl ; and I know not how his forefathers 
fell so low. Lord Derwent water waited until 
the singing was over, and then stepped 
forward and offered his hand to this man 
as to a gentleman, and sent for a bottle 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 47 

of wine which he gave him, with a purse 
of five guineas, saying that the Percies and 
the Eadcliffes were cousins. The good man 
was much abashed at first, but presently 
lifted his head, and carried off his bottle 
and his purse with resolution and pride. 
This circumstance, simple as it may seem, 
greatly raised the character of his lordship ; 
for the common people, many of whom are 
descendants — even though bye-blows — of the 
gentlefolk, highly regard and are extremely 
jealous of descent ; so that at Hexham it 
is a great thing to be a Kadcliffe, as in 
Eedesdale it is a great thing to be a Hall, 
and as at Bamborough one would be a 
Forster if one could, and at Alnwick a 
Percy. To give a poor man a present 
because he is of noble descent is a small 
thing, certainly; yet it was done with so 
great an ease and kindness that it touched 
all hearts. 

If, on Christmas Day, we amused our- 
selves after the manner of the people and 
were happy in their way, we were promised, 
a few days later, a performance of a quite 
different and more fashionable kind. It 



48 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

was throiigli Mr. Hilyard, who always knew 
everything that was going on in the neigh- 
bourhood — how, one knows not, save that 
he was ever talking with carriers, postboys, 
and gipsies, and always had a kind word 
and a crust or a groat for a vagrant, nor 
cared to inquire if he were honest or not, 
but helped him, he said, because he was 
a man, and therefore stamped, like his 
unworthy self, with the Divine effigies. He 
reported that there was a company of players 
at Newcastle, who could doubtless be per- 
suaded, in the manner usually found effective 
among such people, to journey as far as 
Dilston Hall. And he sent off without delay 
a messenger who was to run the whole way, 
twenty miles, with a letter from himself, 
to bring them, bag and baggage. It was 
the same company, though this he told us 
not (but I remembered their faces), as that 
among whom we had seen him, for the 
first time, play Merry Andrew ; but the 
younger actresses were changed, as is, I 
am told, a very common occurrence, their 
beauty and their cleverness getting them 
rapid promotion, and, in some cases, good 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 49 

husbands. Why, Lord Derwentwater's grand- 
mother was herself but an actress, though 
she made a King fall m love witli her. 

These strollers were so poor — for the 
profits of each night's performance are but 
a few shillings to be divided among all — 
that they joyfully acceded to the invitation, 
and jumped at an offer which was to them 
nothing short of beef and beer and lodging 
for a month to come, so generous was my 
lord. 

He had never seen an English play. Nor 
had I myself, or Tom, or any of the young 
gentlemen ; though I had often heard my 
father speak of Drury Lane and the little 
theatre in the Haymarket, the amusements of 
which he often enjoyed when in London on 
his Parliament business. 

' I have witnessed the playing,' said my 
lord, * at the Comedie Frangaise, where they 
play very finely the tragedies of the great 
Racine and Corneille and the comedie? of 
Moliere. I have also attended a performance 
of Madame de Maintenon's sacred plays 
with which she amuses His Majesty; and 
I have seen the Italian troupe, who are 

VOL. II. 23 



50 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

full of tricks and merriment, and have a 
thousand ingenious arts to divert their com- 
pany. The play is truly a most polite form 
of entertainment, and would be more delight- 
ful if the j)arUvYC could be by any means 
induced to remain quiet, and if the actors 
could have the stage to themselves, without 
the three rows of gentlemen who interrupt 
the performance by loud talking, and encum- 
ber the movements of the actors. Mr. Hil- 
yard, I beg that you will allow no seats upon 
our stage. We will all sit in front.' 

At Dilston, as everywhere, Mr. Hilyard 
was entrusted with the management of our 
amusements. 

' I appoint you, sir/ said my lord, * if I 
may, our Master of the Eevels ; and I require 
but one thing of you — that you please Miss 
Dorothy.' 

I was so much pleased that never since 
have I lost the memory of that fortnight, and 
dwell upon it with such delight in the recol- 
lection as I cannot express in words. Oh ! 
sad it is (if we do not apply the thought to 
our spiritual advantage) that youth and beauty 
must fade, that love cannot always follow a 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 51 

smooth and easy course, and that the things 
we most desire should so often be snatched 
from our grasp just as we think them within 
our reach ! To meditate upon the fleeting 
and momentary nature of earthly happiness is 
now my lot. The thought of the past would 
be too much for me, were it not for the 
heavenly blessing and divinely given hope 
that there is another and a more lasting youth 
before us. Why, what is it to pass through 
a few years of old age and solitary decay, 
when there awaits us another life in which I 
shall meet again my lord, with that same 
noble face which I remember so well, and 
those kindly eyes which, like the eyes in a 
portrait on the wall, follow me still, though 
they are long since closed in death ! The face 
and the eyes will be the same, but oh ! 
glorified, and in the living image of God. 
And as for me, my poor beauty that I loved 
so well, yet lost without a sigh when my 
friends were gone, that, too, will be given 
back to me and more, with such heavenly 
graces as are vouchsafed to those who believe. 
There will be no marrying nor giving in 
marriage ; but a pure and innocent love will 

23—2 



55 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

flow from one soul to another, so that my 
lord will meet me again with such a look in 
his sweet eyes as he wore in those old days at 
Dilston Hall. Therefore weep no more, poor 
Dorothy ; but patience, and tell thy story. 

The play which Mr. Hilyard chose for us 
was Congreve's ^ Mourning Bride.' He had 
read it to me more than once ; but although 
the situation, even to one who reads or listens 
to the poem, is full of horror, and the un- 
ravelling of the plot keeps the mind agreeably 
on the stretch of expectation, I was not 
prepared for the emotions caused by the 
actual representation of the piece before my 
eyes. Mr. Hilyard arranged for the perform- 
ance in the great hall, providing a curtain 
and footlights as in a real theatre, with 
scenery to help the imagination. Thus the 
scene in the temple or church was an awful 
representation of aisles and columns which 
one was easily persuaded to regard as real, 
though they were nothing in the world but 
rolls of canvas or linen daubed with grey 
paint. And thus (but I ought to have ex- 
pected something from Mr. Hilyard's vast 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 53 

importance) a most agreeable surprise awaited 
us. Not only did our Master of the Kevels 
himself pronounce a prologue, beginning — 

' Far from the London boards we've travelled here, 
Bringing with us, to make you better cheer, 
Great Dryden, Congreve, Shakespeare, Farquhar, Rowe, 
To raise your mirth and bid your tears to flow ;' 

and ending — 

' Do thou, my lord, 
Fresh from the splendour of a Court, bestow 
(Though all our art be simple, and our show 
But rustic) gracious audience ; and while 
We strive to please, do thou be pleased to smile. 
Of ye, O fair ! we ask, but not in vain, 
To think 'tis London and in Drury Lane. 
See Osmyn hug his chains, and Zara say, 
" Blest be the death which whiles for you this night 
away." ' 

' Upon my word,' said my lord, ' Mr. 
Hilyard is a much more ingenious gentleman 
.than I thought.' 

' He is well enough,' said Tom. ^ But 
this verse-writing is mighty silly skimble 
skamble stuff.' 

Then the curtain drew up, and the play 
began. Everybody knows this most beautiful 
tragedy, in which Almeria mourns the bride- 



54 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

groom torn from her at the very hour 
of her marriage, and drowned by being 
wrecked. But — and here is the dramatist's 
art — her father is not to know of the marriage, 
therefore it is supposed that Almeria w^as a 
prisoner in Valentia, and that her husband 
was none other than the King of Valentia' s 
son ; but that the town was taken by 
Almeria's father, and the King and Prince 
Alphonso were forced to fly, and so taken 
captive or perished in the waves. The 
actress was a young woman of some beauty 
set off by art. She was of Hght complexion, 
with very fair hair and blue eyes, which I 
dare say are common among the Spaniards, and 
it showed very well under her black mourn- 
ing habits. She spoke her part so naturally, 
telling the story of her hasty marriage and 
the loss of her groom so movingly, that we 
were all in tears from the beginning. And 
picture our astonishment when we discovered 
in the second scene that the prisoner, Osmyn, 
was none other than Mr. Hilyard himself! 
Instead of a wig, he wore a Moorish turban ; 
instead of a coat and waistcoat, a suit of 
chain-armour (borrowed from the wall of the 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 55 

very hall where the play was acted). He 
was fettered with heavy chains, which he 
rattled dolefully ; his face was fall of stern- 
ness and resolution (quite unlike the short 
face and twinkling eyes of Mr. Hilyard), and 
his head was thrown back to express his 
scorn of his conqueror. I do not know why 
anyone should scorn a conqueror, but in 
Plutarch and the drama they always do so. 
A conqueror, methinks, should be admired as 
the stronger and more skilful ; if fate permits 
it, he should be imitated. But perhaps the 
scorn is intended to show the defiance of 
virtue, even though vice be for the moment 
victorious. 

He had little to say in the first act. But 
in the second, he showed the greatness of his 
soul. The scene is in the aisle of a vast 
church. The hearers were awed and terrified 
by the words of Almeria : 

' It strikes an awe 
And terror on my aching sight. The tomb 
And monumental caves of death are cold, 
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart !' 

She finds Osmyn : he is weeping at his 
father's tomb, for behold, Osmyn is none 



56 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

other than Alphonso. The raptures of their 
meeting are interrupted by the arrival of 
Zara, also one of the captives. She is in 
love with Osmyn. (After the performance I 
reflected that it must be a rare thing for 
prisoners, male and female, thus to wander 
unrestrained about a church at midnight. 
Where were Osmyn's fetters ?) She upbraids 
liim with his coldness, and offers liberty for 
love. He refuses. Then she threatens him, 
and on the arrival of the King has him con- 
veyed to prison, with the immediate prospect 
of death by rack and whip. Mr. Hilyard 
(I mean Osmyn) went to face it with so 
heroic a countenance that we could not choose 
but wonder. Did one ever believe that Mr. 
Hilyard could face death and torture with so 
bold a front ? I declare that, for one, I 
have ever since considered the courage of this 
peaceful scholar as tried and proved ; nor is 
it any answer to say that an unshrinking- 
mien may be assumed even by a coward in 
the presence of pretended torture. I am 
perfectly assured that no coward could assume 
without betraying so assured and finished a 
guise of heroism. In the morning, on re- 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 57 

flection, I thought it strange that the King 
as well as his prisoners should spend the 
night in wandering among the tombs in a 
church. 

In the third act Osmyn is visited in prison 
by his friend Heli (I forget whether he was 
also a prisoner, or merely a wandering friend), 
who informs him that there are hopes of a 
mutiny among the troops, and that Zara may 
assist to release him. In fact, Zara comes — 
she was a brunette, with speaking eyes, and 
very finely, as I thought, played the part of 
a hapless woman who loves where she is not 
loved in return. She promises assistance, 
hoping for reward. She then retires, appa- 
rently to make room for Almeria, but returns 
to discover Almeria with the captive. This 
fires h^r resentment : 

' Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd, 
Nor helf a fury Hke a woman scorned.' 

In the fourth act things present a most 
dreadful outlook to Almeria and her fettered 
husband ; but in the fifth, all, by a most for- 
tunate and providential succession of murders, 
ends well. First, a mute carrying messages 
is slain ; the King takes the place of Osmyn 



58 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

(or Alphonso) in the prison, and is murdered 
by mistake ; Zara poisons herself, and throws 
herself upon the body of the King, whom 
she supposes to be Alphonso ; Almeria comes, 
and prepares to imitate her rival, when 
Alphonso, victorious and triumphant, bursts 
upon the scene, and saves her just in the 
nick of time. To tell how the tragic story 
filled my heart with pity and terror while it 
was acting, how Almeria bewailed her fate, 
how Zara raged, how nobly Mr. Hilyard (or 
Alphonso) bore himself, would be impossible. 
Suffice to say that we wiped away our tears 
and were happy again, though the stage was 
strewn with dead bodies, when Alphonso 
spoke the last lines : 

' Still in the way of honour persevere, 
And not from past or present ills despair, 
For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, 
And, though a late, a sure reward succeeds.' 

There were others present who enjoyed 
the play as much as I did, though my lord 
said that, in his opinion, and compared 
with the majestic work of Eacine, it was but 
a poor piece, and that the situations were 
forced, with too much blood. All the ser- 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 59 

vants who chose to come were allowed to 
stand at the lower end, and though some of 
them gaped and wondered what it all might 
mean, there were others who looked on with 
delight. Among them was my maid Jenny, 
whom I discerned standing on a stool at the 
far end, her face aglow with a kind of rap- 
ture, her great black eyes like coals of fire, 
her lips parted, and her body bent forward — 
things which I remembered afterwards. 

This girl (who was, as I have said, clever, 
sharp, and faithful) I had taught to read. I 
am well aware that I am open to censure for 
doing this. The possession of this key to 
learning is a dangerous thing. It is certainly 
a question which still remains to be answered, 
whether persons in that class should be 
taught to read ; for, in the first place, a little 
learning is a dangerous thing. Again, dis- 
content is easily acquired when one learns 
how many, from obscure origins, have become 
rich. Thirdly, it has been abundantly proved 
that there is no villain like a villain who can 
read and write. On the other hand, it seems 
good that a man or woman should be able to 
read the Prayer Book, Catechism, and Psalms 



6o DOROTHY FORSTER, 

of David in the vulgar tongue, and the Bible 
as well, provided always that the interpreta- 
tion of it be modestly left to clergymen of 
the Established Church, and not undertaken 
by private judgment. As for matters of daily 
work, such as the farm and the house and 
medicine, it is certain that book-learning will 
never become so good as the teaching of 
those who have learned from their fathers 
and mothers. However, be it right or wrong, 
I taught the girl to read ; and Jenny, though 
this I knew not, began to read everything she 
could find at all times when she was not at 
work. Among other things she read, it is 
supposed, volumes of plays which belonged to 
Mr. Hilyard. 

When the play was over, Jenny, instead 
of going to bed as a good girl should have 
done, must needs wait about (this I learned 
afterwards) until the players went to their 
supper; and after supper she sat up with 
them, listening open-mouthed to their talk. 
It seems that people of this profession scarce 
ever go to bed before one or two o'clock in 
the morning, because after their great passion 
and the excitement of so many emotions they 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 6i 

are fain to sit up till late, recovering the 
calmness of spirit necessary for quiet sleep. 
I know not what they said to her, or she to 
them ; but afterwards she was never the 
same girl. She had moods and fits ; would 
cry for nothing, and laugh at a little ; read 
more books of plays ; and, among the other 
maids, would imitate not only the actresses, 
but also the very gentlemen of the company 
to the life — their voice, gestures, and manner 
of bearing themselves. This was a very 
impudent and disrespectful thing to do. I 
have also reason to believe — but as I never 
charged it upon him, so he never confessed it 
— that Mr. Hilyard himself secretly encouraged 
the girl to learn, and taught her to declaim 
with justness of emphasis and proper manage- 
ment of voice, passages from his books. 
Great scholar and wit though he was, he did 
not sufficiently consider the consequences of 
his actions. To teach such a girl to deliver 
poetry with eloquence was as much as to 
give a man who hath no money a taste for 
the most costly wines. 

This, however, by the way. 

In the morning I myself, finding the 



62 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

players preparing to go away, entered into con- 
versation with one of the women, the one 
who played Zara. She was a young woman 
of genteel carriage and respectful speech, 
who, off the stage, although upon it she was 
so queenly in her bearing and so full of fire 
and action, might very well have passed for a 
respectable seamstress or milliner. As for 
the woman who played Leonora, she was the 
wife of the King, I found, and middle-aged, 
with a baby. First of all, when I spoke to 
Zara, I found she was shy, as if afraid that 
I should despise or insult her, a thing of 
which I am told actors are very jealous, 
because by statute law they are regarded as 
rogues and vagabonds. 

' In Paris,' my lord told me, ' they once 
lost in this way their best actress, an in- 
comparable and most beautiful creature, 
who was so enraged by the insults of the 
parterre, that she returned them with scorn 
and indignation. They clapped her in prison 
for this Use-majeste ; but when she was 
liberated, she refused ever to act again.' 

Well, but I did not wish to show contempt 
for anybody, much less a virtuous and honest 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. d^ 

young wofnan ; and I made haste to com- 
pliment her on her rare and wonderful gift of 
impersonation, adding that I had learned to 
respect the art from my tutor, Mr. Hilyard, 
whom they had allowed to play Osmyn. 
Then I asked her about her way of life, and 
if she was happy. She replied that, indeed, 
for happiness she could not tell, because poor 
folks are never overwhelmed with happiness ; 
that the pay was uncertain, and sometimes 
food was scanty, and there were times when 
to play in a barn for a supper was counted 
great gain ; yet (I remembered afterwards that 
Jenny stood beside me, and was listening with 
open mouth) the delight of acting (' Oh ! 
Ah !' a gasp and a sigh from Jenny) was so 
great as to counterbalance the evils of 
poverty. That, to be sure, fine ladies look 
down upon an actress as mere dirt beneath 
their feet ; but what signifies that, since one 
need never speak with a fine lady ? That it 
was a hard life, in which a body hath no 
time to be ill or to be wearied, or to have 
any mood or mind of her own, but always 
ready for a new part and to play a new 
passion ; yet, that this evil was com- 



64 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

pensated for by the freedom and variety of 
the life. 

* Consider, madam/ she said earnestly, 
* if I were not an actress, I should be a maid 
in a lady's house, or a common drudge to a 
tradesman's wife, or perhaps a dressmaker, or 
serving-woman to a coffee-house or a tavern ; 
or, if I had good looks, perhaps a shop-girl, 
to sell gloves, ribbons, and knickknacks, in 
Cranbourne Alley. Your ladyship doth not 
know, I am sure, the rubs and flips which we 
poor women have to endure from harsh 
masters. What is our character to them, 
provided fine gentlemen come to the shop 
and buy ? and what do they care what 
becomes of the poor girls ? One gone, 
another is easily found. . All poor people 
must be unhappy in some way, I suppose. 
Give me my liberty ' — here Jenny choked — 
< if I must starve with it. But we all hope 
for better times, and perhaps, before we 
grow old and lose such good looks as the 
Lord hath given to us, an engagement at 
York Theatre — or even ' — here she gasped 
as one who catcheth at a bunch of grapes too 
high — * at Drury Lane.' 



CHRISTMAS TO TWELFTH NIGHT. 65 

So they packed up their dresses and gilt 
crowns, their tin swords and fineries, and 
went away, well pleased with the generous 
pay of my lord. 

But Mr. Hilyard went about with his chin 
in the air, still thinking himself Osmyn, for 
many days to come. 

' Are there,* asked my lord, * many 
scholars of Oxford who can act, and write 
verses, and play the buffoon, and sing like 
that strange man of yours. Miss Dorothy ? 
In Paris, such a scholar becomes an Abbe ; 
he may make as many verses as he pleases, 
and pay court to as many patrons, and be 
lapdog to the fine ladies, but act upon the 
stage he may not.' 

Yet he congratulated the actor with the 
kindness which belonged to his nature, trying 
to make him feel that his genius and the 
variety of his powers were admired and 
understood. And before we came away my 
lord gave him a snuff-box, which Mr. Hilyard 
still carries and greatly values. It bears 
upon the lid a picture of Danae, believed to 
be the portrait of Nell Gwynne. 

* But as for his acting,' my lord went on, 

VOL. II. 24 



66 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

* I care not who acts nor wliat the piece, so 
long as thou art pleased, fan- Daphne. For 
to please thee is at present all my thought 
and my only care. Ah ! blushing, rosy 
English cheek ! Sure nowhere in the world 
are the women so beautiful as in England ; 
and nowhere so true, and good as well, as in 
my own county.' 

"With such pretty speeches he ended every- 
thing. If it were a ride, it must be whither 
I pleased ; if we walked, it must be in what 
direction I commanded ; w4ien we dined, the 
dishes were to be to my liking; if I ventured 
to praise anything, it must become my own 
— nay, I think that, had I chosen, I could 
have stripped the walls even of the family 
portraits, carried off the treasures which the 
house contained, and borne away all the 
horses from the stable. My lord possessed 
that nature which is never truly happy unless 
it is devising further happiness and fresh joy- 
ful surprises for those he loves. 



CHAPTEE XV. 

NEW year's day. 

On the day of the New Year, which is the 
day for giving and receiving presents, there 
was so great an exchange of pretty things 
that I cannot enumerate them. For every- 
body gave something, if it were only a Httle 
trifle worked by hand. Thus, my lord pre- 
sented Tom with a hunter, and Tom gave 
him a fowling-piece which had belonged to 
his uncle Ferdinando. Though the general 
joy at the master's return was so great that 
the tables groaned beneath the presents 
offered to him, yet I think he gave far more 
than he received. That was ever his way 
— to give more than he received, whether 
in friendship, trust, and confidence, or in rich 
presents, or in love. It is a happy disposition, 

24—2 



68 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

showing that its owner is abeady half pre- 
pared for heaven. As for myself, I was 
made nothing short of rich by the many 
beautiful and costly things that were bestowed 
upon me. Tom gave me a pair of gloves, 
the Lady Mary a small parcel of point- 
lace of Valenciennes, the Lady Katharine 
a piece of most beautiful brocade, saying that 
she was too old for such gauds and vanities, 
which became young and beautiful gentle- 
women, and her maid should give me counsel 
how best to make it up. Mr. Howard gave 
me a book from the library containing the 
' Meditations ' of Thomas a Kempis. Alas ! 
I paid little heed at the time to the wise 
and comforting words of that precious book, 
though now, next to one other, it is my 
greatest consoler. (I also find some of the 
* Thoughts ' of Monsieur Pascal worthy the 
attention of those who would seek comfort 
from rehgion.) Frank gave me a silver 
chain — it had been his grandmother's — for 
hanging keys and what not upon ; and 
Mr. Errington gave me a pretty little ring 
set with an emerald, saying that he had 
bought it for the first Dorothy Forster twenty 



NEW YEARS DAY. 69 

years before, but she would have none of 
him or of his gifts. 

* Wherefore, my dear,' he said, * although 
an emerald speaks of love returned, let me 
bestow it upon one beautiful enough to be 
Dorothy's daughter. 

* " daughter, fairer than thy mother fair," 

as says some poet, but I forget which, because 
it is thirty years since I left off reading verses. 
Very likely it was Suckling or Waller.' 

^ Sir,' said Mr. Hilyard officiously, ' your 
honour does the Latin poet Horace the 
honour to quote him — through an unknown 
translation.' 

' Gad,' replied Mr. Errington, ' I knew 
not I was quoting Latin. I am infinitely 
obliged to you, sir, for the assistance of 
your learning. It shall be Horace, since 
you say so. But much finer things, I doubt 
not, have been said about beautiful women 
by our English poets. Can you, sir, who 
know the poets, as well as everything else ' 
— Mr. Errington was one of those gentlemen 
who regard scholarship as a kind of trade, 
to be followed by the baser sort, as indeed 



70 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

it chiefly is, and as a means of rising — ' can 
you, sir, help us to something from an 
Enghsh poet with which we may compliment 
the beauty of this young lady ?' 

' The language of gallantry,' said Mr. 
Hilyard, * was not affected by Shakespeare, 
our greatest poet ; yet there is one passage 
which I submit to your honour. It is in 
his sonnets, wherein the poet says : 

* " Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee 
Calls back the lovely April of her person." ' 

' Very good, sir,' said Mr. Errington. 
^ Fair Dorothy, Shakespeare was a prophet.' 

Lord Derwentwater alone gave me nothing, 
which I thought strange. But presentl}^, 
when the first business and agitation about 
the gifts were over, he begged me to examine 
with him some of the treasures and heirlooms 
of the house. 

The hall was full of strange things and 
treasures brought together from every part 
of the world ; by Eadcliffes who had travelled 
in far countries, even to Constantinople and 
the Holy Land ; by Eadcliffes who had crossed 
the ocean, and seen the two Americas and 
the savage Indians; by Eadcliffes who had 



NEW year's day, 71 

plundered Scottish castles and Scottish towns 
in the old times ; by Radcliffes who had 
bought beautiful things in Italy, and by 
those who had bought them in London. The 
walls were covered with pictures ; not only 
portraits, but also those pictures which men 
strangely love to paint, of half- clothed 
shepherdesses, nymphs, satyrs, and so forth ; 
illustrations of stories from Ovid and the 
ancient poets, some of which Mr. Hilyard 
had read to me ; together with other pictures, 
to my poor understanding, equally foolish — 
to wit, the martyrdom and torture of saints, 
as the shooting of St. Sebastian with arrows ; 
the roasting of St. Lawrence upon a gridiron 
(this was a very fine and much -praised picture 
by an Italian master, whose name I have 
forgotten ; but it made your flesh creep ever 
afterwards even to think of that poor writhing 
wretch) ; the angels in heaven, all sitting in 
a formal circle ; the beheading of St. Peter, 
and so forth. I know not why these things 
should be portrayed, unless, as is wdsely done 
in Fox's ' Book of Martyrs,' in order to show, 
by lively pictures of the poor creatures in 
the flames, what one religion is capable of 



72 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

doing, and the other of enduring. Besides 
the pictures, there were suits of armour, both 
chain-armour, very beautifully wrought, and 
armour of hammered iron, with a whole 
armoury of weapons hanging like trophies 
upon the walls, such as pikes, lances, spears, 
bows and arrows, crossbows, guns and fire- 
locks of all kinds, strange instruments for 
tearing knights out of their saddles, battle- 
axes, maces, and swords of every kind. At 
my request, my lord once dressed himself 
in one of the suits of chain-armour, and 
put on his head an iron helmet, with side 
or cheek pieces, and a machine for protecting 
the face. With a battleaxe in his hand, he 
looked most martial and commanding ; yet 
I laughed to see the long wig below the 
helmet, flowing over the shoulders and the 
chain-armour. To each age its fashions ; 
since the politeness of the present generation 
commands gentlemen no longer to wear their 
own hair, but a full wig, whereby the aged 
may look young, and the young disguise 
their youth and inexperience, there must 
seem something ludicrous when the dress 
of our ancestors is assumed even for a 



NEW YEARS DAY, jz 

moment. It was not, however, to see these 
things, which stood exposed to the view 
of all who came, that I was asked to accom- 
pany my lord. We went to see those treasures 
which were kept under lock and key in 
cabinets and cupboards, and even in secret 
places known only to Mrs. Busby, the house- 
keeper, who came with us, bearing the ke3^s. 

Lady Mary came, too. Her sister. Lady 
Katharine, the most gentle and pious of 
women, was in the chapel, where she spent a 
great part of each day in prayer and medi- 
tation. Certainly, if ever there was a saint 
in the Church of Eome, she was one. Though 
we are bound not to accept the doctrine of 
Purgatory (which seems to me the least 
harmful of human inventions, as regards 
religion), yet I have always thought, in 
considering the life of this pious woman, that 
there could be no fires of Purgatory for her. 
Her sister was as gentle, but not so pious 
(yet a good woman, and obedient to the 
Church). 

' My dear,' she said, ' we have many pretty 
things to show you. No doubt the Forsters 
have also got together, both at Bamborough 



74 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

and Etherston, things as curious and more 
valuable, for we are not ignorant that you 
have been longer in the county. But our 
collections are allowed to be very fine.* 

They were indeed very fine. We have 
nothing to compare with them, either at 
Etherston or at Bamborough. 

There were old brocades, stiff with gold 
and silver ; gloves set with pearls ; shoe- 
buckles with diamonds ; embroidered and 
jewelled garters; damasks, flounced stuffs, 
rich silks, every kind of woman's dress from 
the time of Henry YL, or even older, 
to the present day. The housekeeper laid 
them out with pride, saying, * This belonged 
to Lady Radcliffe, your lordship's grand- 
mother, who was a daughter of Sir William 
Fenwick ; and this was part of the bridal 
dress of Anne Eadclifife, who married Sir 
Philip Constable ; and these were the late 
Lady Swinburne's gloves ' — and so on. She 
had, besides, a story to tell of every one ; 
how this lady was a widow and a beauty; 
and this one ran awaj^, and another was 
married against her will, and another a widow 
almost as soon as she was a bride : such tales 



NEIV YEARS DAY. 75 

as an old housekeeper loves to gather to- 
gether and to store up. 

' Women/ says Mr. Hilyard, ' are the 
historians, as they are the guardians of the 
household.' 

' These/ said the Earl, ' are the ladies' 
collections. My own mother ' — his face 
darkened when he spoke of his mother (at 
which I wonder not) — ' hath added nothing ; 
but my grandmother and her predecessors 
have all contributed sometliing of their finery 
to make this collection the better. Great 
pity it is when a family lets all be scattered 
abroad and lost.' 

Then we were shown the cabinets, where 
were locked up the trinkets, ornaments, and 
things in gold. Here were rings of all kinds 
" — some old and rudely set, but with large 
stones ; some with posies and devices ; some 
with coats of arms; some with stories be- 
longing to them and some without. Also 
there were bracelets of all kinds — of plain 
beaten gold, of chains in gold, of rings, of 
serpents ; of Saracen, Turkish, Indian, 
Venetian, and Florentine work ; also neck- 
laces of silver and of gold — plain and set with 



76 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

emeralds, diamonds, rubies, opal, sapphires, 
and all other precious stones, ecjrets^ etuis, 
and chains of all kinds, even the thin and 
delicate chain of pure soft gold from India — 
one never saw so brave a show. Then there 
were miniatures in gold frames set with pearls, 
of the Eadcliffe ladies, including my own 
great-grandmother, the heiress of Blanchland. 
A comely and beautiful race they were. 
Next there were snuff-boxes collected by the 
late Earl, who died in the year 1705. 
There were dozens of these, mostly with lids 
beautifully painted, but the pictures such as 
please not a woman's eye, being like those 
on the w^alls, of half-dressed nymphs and 
shepherdesses. Dear me ! A man who 
wants to take snuff can surely take it quite 
as well out of a tin or brass snuff-box, such 
as our gentlemen use, as out of a box with 
a heathen goddess sprawling outside, dressed 
as heathen goddesses were accustomed to 
dress. 

' It is,' said Mr. Hilyard once, talking the 
nonsense that even learned men sometimes 
permit themselves — ' it is an excuse for 
painting the ideal, model, and fountain of 



NEW YEARS DAY. yy 

beauty. It lias been held that from Venus — 
namely feminine beauty — are born not only 
the train of Loves, petulant and wanton, but 
also the nine Muses, who are, in fact, Poetry, 
Music, Dancing, Acting, Gallantry, Courtesy, 
Politeness, Courtship, and Intrigue, and not 
Thalia and her sisters at all, unless they can 
be proved to have those attributes/ 

This foolish talk I refused to hear. Did 
ever a woman wish to see represented the 
stalwart form and sturdy calves of her lover ? 
How, then, did we get our love for poetry, 
dancing, and the rest of it, including coquetry ? 

I cannot tell all that was in this cabinet of 
wonders. But in the lowest drawers there 
lay — fans ! Oh, Heaven ! Fans ! I never 
knew before that there were in the whole 
wide world so many fans. They were all 
painted, and some of them most beautifully. 
There were fans with flowers on them, so 
life-like that you stooped to breathe the 
perfume of the rose or the mignonette ; there 
were fans with rustic scenes — swains and 
shepherdesses dancing round a maypole. 

' Do they dance so in France, my lord ?' 
I asked. 



78 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

*Nay,' he replied gravely. * They dance, 
indeed, but it is to forget the terrors of to- 
morrow, and to rejoice over the certainty of 
to-day's dinner. There is laughter, but not 
much joy, in the peasant's dance.' 

So I laid that down, and took up another. 
Upon it was the tale of the Sirens and Ulysses. 
Oh! I knew the story, and wonderful it was 
to see the oarsmen rowing silent and careless, 
neither seeing nor hearing, while Ulysses, 
bound to the mast, strained forward to catch 
the music, after which he would fain have 
followed like a slave if he could. It was a 
moral piece, and I looked at it with admira- 
tion. The next — but I cannot run through 
them all — was the Judgment of Paris — the 
shepherd, a very noble youth, with something 
of the look of my lord upon him ; while as 
for the goddesses, not one of them, to my 
thinking, deserved an apple so much as — 
but we may not judge, and it seemed to 
please his lordship. Then there were more 
swains and shepherdesses, very sweet and 
pretty, with grass like velvet, and dresses 
(though they had been tending sheep) as 
clean and neat as if just out of the band-box. 



NEW YEARS DAY. 79 

* Ah ! if one could find such a country/ 
I said, * one would willingly turn milk- 
maid/ 

' And I,' said my lord, ' would even be 
turned into a shepherd to be companion to 
such a milkmaid/ 

Then there was a fan of Pierrot, Harlequin, 
and Columbine. It brought your heart into 
your mouth only to see such merry, careless 
faces, as if there were no such thing as 
trouble, or anxiety, or exiled princes, or rival 
churches, or wicked people, and all that one 
had to do was to tell stories continually, 
laugh, dance, sing, and make merry. I never 
saw before such happiness depicted on simple 
white silk. It made me think, somehow, of 
Mr. Hilyard in the evening. After this fan, 
I cared little about the rest, though the 
parting of Achilles and Briseis was sad, and 
the death of Cleopatra tragic. 

' Now,' said my lord, smiling kindly, as 
was his wont when he was doing something 
generous — ' now that you have seen our 
pretty things, remember that you have not 
received my etrenne. Will it please you make 
a choice ?' 



8o DOROTHY FORSTER. 

I know not whether by accident or design, 
but Lady Mary and the housekeeper were 
engaged among the silks and old brocades, 
and we were alone. 

'Oh, my lord !' I said, 'I cannot take any 
of these beautiful things. They belong to 
your house and to your family. They must 
not leave you.' 

' Take all,' he whispered. ' Oh, Dorothy ! 
take all ; and yet, they need not leave me, if 
in taking them you take me too.' 

Alas ! what could a girl say ? I knew not 
what to say ; for in the great joy of that 
moment I remembered not — nay, all this time 
I thought not about it, being in a Fool's 
Paradise — what stood between us. 

' Oh, my lord !' was all I could whisper. 

But he stooped and kissed my fingers, and 
I think that Lady Mary saw him, for she 
came back quickly, a little glow upon her 
faded cheek and a brightness in her eyes ; but 
said nothing, only presently took my hand in 
hers and pressed it kindly. 

Well, there was no help ; she joined her 
nephew in forcing presents upon me. I chose 
the fan with Harlequin, Columbine, and 



NEW YEARS DAY. 8i 

Pierrot upon it. Why, it lies beside me still, 
with its three once happy, laughing faces. 
Long ago they too have been driven out of 
their FooFs Paradise, like me. The silk has 
faded; the pictured faces smile no more — 
they have lost their youth— they are wrinkled 
— they have forgotten how to laugh. When 
I die, I should like that fan to be buried 
with me. 

Other things they gave me — a ring, a 
bracelet — what matters now? — with kind 
words, and praise of beauty and sweet looks. 
A sensible girl knows very well that this 
flattery is bestowed out of goodness of heart, 
and with the desire of pleasing her ; it does 
not turn her head more than the passing 
sunshine of the moment, though it makes her 
cheek to glow, her eyes to brighten, and her 
lips to tremble. 

' There were never,' whispered the fond 
young lover, ' never, I swear, finer eyes or 
sweeter lips.' 

In the evening, when I opened my fan, a 
paper fell out. My lord picked it up and 
gave it me. Oh ! it was another set of 
verses, and in the same feigned handwriting 

VOL. II. 25 



82 DOROTHY FORSTER. ■ 

as the first. He read them, affecting as much 
surprise as on the former occasion : 

' Learn, nymphs, from wondrous Daphne's art 

The uses of the fan, 
Designed to play a potent part 
When she undoes a man. 

' As when the silly trout discerns 

The artificial fly, 
And rises, bites, and too late learns 
The hook that lies hard by; 

' So man, before whose raptured gaze 

The fan in Daphne's arms, 
Now spreads, now shuts, and now displays, 
And now conceals her charms, 

' Falls, like that silly fish, a prey, 

Yet happier far than he. 
Adores the hand outstretched to slay, 
And dies in ecstasy.' 



CHAPTEE XVI. 

A STBANGE THING. 

I CANNOT forbear to mention a thing which 
happened at this time, so strange, so contrary 
to reason and experience, so far removed 
from the ordinary stories .of apparitions and 
phantoms, that, had I not been agitated by a 
thousand tumultuous joys, I must have been 
thrown by it into great apprehensions, and 
perhaps have felt compelled to lay the matter 
before the Bishop. 

The thing is concerned with my maid 
Jenny, of course. I have already explained 
that she was an active and faithful maid, 
clever with her needle, a good hairdresser, 
modest and respectful in her behaviour to me, 
whatever she was to others. With all these 
virtues, it is grievous to remember that if 
ever a woman was a witch, aixl had dealings 

25—2 



84 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

with the devil — why, even Mr. Hilyard, who 
is always most cautious in these matters, 
confesses that the matter is beyond his com- 
prehension, and he knows not how to explain 
it, or what to say of it. Let us remember 
that at Blanchland she saw apparitions (though 
others saw none), to the terror of the village ; 
and there also she was said to lead about a 
rustic whom she made to do whatever she 
pleased (this at the time I believed not, 
though now I know that it may be true). 
And at Dilston she acted parts either of her 
own invention, or imitated people, or de- 
claimed what she had heard to such admira- 
tion that the men gazed upon her with open 
mouths, and the kitchen-maids dropped the 
dishes, and the elder women crossed them- 
selves. Gipsy blood will show, they say ; 
no doubt these outcasts are in some sort 
more liable than the rest of us to diabolical 
possession, and it is by this, and no other 
way, that they are enabled to read the future, 
predict fortunes, and, above all, to bewitch 
a man and make him do whatsoever they 
please. 

It was on the morning after this day of 



A STRANGE THING. 85 

gifts — a gloomy and cloudy morning, with 
mist lying over the Devilswater and the 
meadow beneath the Hall ; the gentlemen 
were in the fields shooting ; Lady Katharine 
was, I suppose, in the chapel ; Lady Mary 
was dozing in her chair ; the maids were all 
at work below and in the kitchens. I, having 
nothing to do, and a heart troubled but full 
of joy, began to roam by myself about the 
great house. First I went into the hbrary, 
where few ever sat. Sometimes my lord 
went thither to spend an hour ; he was a 
gentleman of parts, and possessed as much 
learning as befits a man of his rank. An 
earl must not be a writer of books or a poet 
by trade, though he may, as Lord Eochester 
did, write witty and ingenious verses to be 
given to his mistress or to please the Court. 
Frank Eadcliffe was often there, and some- 
times Mr. Howard. To-day when I opened 
the door I saw the good old priest sleeping 
beside a great wood fire, on his knees a 
massive volume in calf, with brass clasps — 
no doubt a learned work on theology. So, 
not to disturb him, I shut the door again 
quite softly, and went along the passages 



86 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

among the many old rooms, hung with 
tapestry, and furnished after an antique style. 
Some of them were occupied, but for the 
most part they were empty, and I looked 
curiously into them, half afraid of the deep 
shadows, in which ghosts might linger. If I 
entered these silent chambers, I peeped hur- 
riedly into the mirrors, fearful lest, as has 
happened to many honest people, I might see 
a second face in addition to my own, or, 
which is worse than a whole procession of 
ghosts, not my own face at all, but quite 
another one — a strange, a threatening, and 
an angry face — or the face of a demon. I 
have often prayed to be protected from this 
form of visitation, of which I could tell many 
stories, but refrain, merely saying that it is a 
sure indication of great disaster thus to see 
a strange and angry face in the mirror instead 
of your own. 

The house being so silent, the air without 
so misty, and the rooms so dark, it is not 
wonderful that I presently fell into that ex- 
pectant spirit in which nothing seems strange, 
so that if all my ancestors on the Eadcliffe 
side had with one consent marched up the 



A STRANGE THING. 87 

corridor to greet me, I should have taken it 
as nothing out of the way or even unexpected. 
It is a condition of mind into which it is 
easy to fall when one is in a reverie. 

Now, as I walked along the passage, I 
became aware of a voice : it was a low voice, 
which I knew very well, but did not remember 
whose it was (when one's head was full of 
Lord Derwentwater, could one remember the 
voice of a servant-maid ?). Without following 
or seeking after that voice, I walked by 
accident straight to the room whence it came, 
and, the iloor being open, and I not thinking 
one way or the other whether I ought to 
look or whether I ought not, I not only 
looked in at the door, but I walked into tli^e 
room. Truly I was as one in a dream. 

The thing which I saw awakened me from 
my dream, and I started and was seized with 
a horror the like of which I never felt before 
and hope never to feel again ; because I saw 
with my own eyes the bewitching of a man 
by a woman. 

It was a large low room without rrwich 
furniture, and I think it had once been used 
for a children's room, for there were little 



S8 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

chairs about, and broken toys. There were 
only two persons in the room : one of the 
two was Frank Eadcliffe, and the other was 
none other, if you please, than Jenny, my 
own maid. That Frank should condescend 
to hold conversation at all with this black- 
eyed gipsy girl might have filled me with 
wonder ; yet I was not so young or so inno- 
cent (what country girl is ?) as not to know 
that young gentlemen will often stoop to 
rustic wenches, to their own sham^e and the 
just ruin of the latter. But Frank was not 
like many of our young bloods, a mere 
hunting and shooting creature, born to de- 
stroy vermin for the farmers and provide 
game for the table. He was a gentleman 
of high breeding and polished, nay, delicate 
manners, no more capable, one would think, 
of being led out of himself by the flashing 
eyes of a village beauty than my lord himself; 
a scholar too, and man of books. Yet here 
he was ; and with him, Jenny. The girl 
was sitting on a high chair with her back to 
the door, and therefore saw me not ; nor did 
she hear my footsteps. Before her, like a 
boy at school before his master, stood the 



A STRANGE THING. 89 

young man. To think that she should sit, 
and he be standing ! But oh, heavens ! 
what ailed him ? His eyes were open, and 
he gazed straight before him, so that he 
looked into my face, but he seemed to see 
nothing ; his arms were hanging motionless ; 
he stood erect, like a soldier with a pike in 
waiting for the word of command ; his cheek 
was pale : he seemed as one whose soul had 
fled while his body waits for its return, or as 
one entranced, or as one who walks in his 
sleep. Yet, for the strange feeling upon me, 
as if anything might happen and nothing was 
wonderful, I stood where I was and looked 
on in silence, though what I saw was beyond 
the power of the mind to conceive. 

Were they play-acting ? But in no play- 
acting that ever I heard of does the actor 
go through his performance with face so 
motionless. The play-acting was nothing. 
Jenny lifted her finger, Frank did the same. 
Jenny folded a paper into a kind of narrow 
tube and gave it him, muttering something 
in a low voice. Then he put the tube to 
his lips and made as if he were smoking 
a pipe. 



90 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Then Jenny made another gesture, and he 
dropped the paper. 

' Think next/ she said imperiously, * of 
my own people, the gipsies. I want to 
know what old granny is doing, and what 
she is saying. If she is making a charm, 
tell me how she makes it.' 

* There is a gipsy camp,' he replied slowly, 
but with no change in his eyes, * outside 
the houses of a village. They have drawn 
their carts round an open space, where there 
is a great fire and a pot upon it.' 

^ And granny — what is granny doing ?' 

' I see an old woman lying upon the boards 
in one of the carts. A young man lies 
beside her, groaning and twisting about.' 

' What does granny say ?' 

' She bids him cheer up ; for what is a 
simple flogging at the cart -tail when once 
'tis over ? And what is a sore back to 
the rheumatism in every bone ?' 

' It is my cousin, Pharaoh Lee,' said 
Jenny. * Poor Pharaoh ! He has been 
stealing poultry, no doubt. The back of 
him should be of leather by now, unless 
backs get the softer for flogging, like a beef- 



A STRANGE THING, 91 

steak. Well Leave the camp, and 

think of my lord, your brother. So — where 
is he r 

* He is walking beside Tom Forster, fowl- 
ing-piece on shoulder. But he looks neither 
to right nor left, and he is not thinking 
of the birds.' 

^ What is he thinking of, then ?' 

^ He is thinking,' replied Frank, * of 
Dorothy. His mind is quite full of her. 
He can think of nothing else. He has 
told her that he loves her, and before she 
goes away he will tell her so again. '' Sweet 
Dorothy !" he says in his mind. '' Fair 
Dorothy ! There is none like Dorothy 
Forster." ' 

Now, when I heard these words it seemed 
to me as if the things I saw and heard were 
ghostly and sent from the other world, where- 
fore I fell into the deadly terror which seizes 
those who behold such things and receive 
such messages, and I shrieked aloud and fell 
into a swoon, which lasted I know not how 
long. 

When I came to myself, I was sitting 
in the chair where Jenny (unless it was a 



92 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

vision) had been exercising her witcheries. 
She was kneehng at my feet, beating my 
palms, and putting a cold, wet towel to my 
forehead, with a face full of terror and 
surprise. 

' Ah !' she said, * you are better now, my 
lady.' 

' What is it, Jenny ?' I cried, clutching 
her hand and looking around. ' What is it ? 
Where is he ?' 

' Where is he ?' she repeated. * Why — 
who r 

' Mr. Francis Radcliffe.' 

* Mr. Frank ? Indeed, your ladyship, I 
know not. I suppose he may have gone 
out with the gentlemen shooting, or perhaps, 
because he is a studious gentleman, he is 
in the library, or talking, maybe, to Mr. 
Hilyard. What should Mr. Frank be doing 
here ?' 

* Nay — but I saw him !' 

' Where did you see him ? Oh, madam ! 
rest a while. Your poor head is wandering. 
You must have had a shock.' 

' I saw him, I say — here with you — 
wicked girl ! with your sorceries.' I pushed 



A STRANGE THING. 93 

her from me ; but she looked astonished and 
not guilty at all — which was most strange. 

' Alas ! madam, what sorceries ? I know 
not what you mean. I was in your own 
room hard by, putting up the lace for your 
hair, which I shall dress by-and-by ' — my 
own room was close at hand, but I had 
forgotten it — * when I heard a loaid cry 
and a something fall, and ran to help — and 
oh dear ! — oh dear ! — it was your ladyship 
lying on the floor all by yourself, with a face 
as white as a sheet.' 

* But I saw him — and you ' 

I looked about the room ; there was 
certainly no Frank Kadcliffe there. Then I 
started to my feet ; the fascination was quite 
gone ; it went away as suddenly as it came. 
I determined to seek out Frank and learn 
the truth at once. 

' Stay here, shameless girl !' I cried. ' If 
thou hast lied thou shalt leave me this 
moment, even if the village folk burn thee for 
a witch, as they called thee at Blanch- 
land.' 

I hastened along the passages and down 
the stairs to the library. Oh, most wonderful ! 



94 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Everything, with one exception, was just 
as I had left it half an hour before. Father 
Howard slept in the quiet corner beside 
the fire, his great volurae on his knee ; on 
the hearth there slowly burned among its 
w^hite ashes a great log ; the silent books 
stood round the walls, and above them hung 
the portraits of Eadcliffes dead and gone ; 
through the windows I saw the white mists 
hanging over the meadow and the narrow 
bed of Devils water. Everything the same, 
except that at a table before one of the 
windows sat Frank himself, two or three 
books before him. 
' Frank !' I cried. 

* Dorothy ! What is it ? Your cheeks 
are white and your eyes are frightened — what 
is it, Dorothy T 

* How long have you been here, Frank ?' 

* I think all the morning, Dorothy. 
Why r 

' I saw — that is, I thought I saw you, 
but just now, in the north corridor. Perhaps 
it was imagination. Yet, I thought — were 
you not there, of truth ?' 

* Indeed, I have not left the Hbrary since 



A STRANGE THING. 95 

breakfast. I must have been asleep, like 
Mr. Howard, for I find I have not turned 
the page for half an hour and more. Do 
you think, Dorothy,' he asked earnestly, 
' that you have seen 'a ghost ? This Dilston, 
they say, is full of ghosts. But I have 
seen none, as yet.' 

* I know not,' I replied, ' what I have seen 
— or what it means. Frank — you have told 
me the truth ?' 

I could not doubt the truth of his straight- 
forward eyes, nor the sincerity of his assur- 
ance. Wherefore, with a beating heart, I 
returned slowly to my own chamber, and 
found Jenny in tears. I thought I must 
have seemed harsh to her, feeling now certain 
that what I had seen was a vision of a 
disordered brain. Yet, why should the brain 
of a girl newly made happy by the most 
noble lover in the world be disordered ? 
Therefore I bestowed upon her a frock, a 
hood, and a pair of warm cloth gloves, for 
a New Year's gift, and told her that I must 
have had some dream or seen some vision, 
and that I blamed her no longer ; though 
at heart I felt some suspicion still, because 



96 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

the dream or vision, if such it had been, 
remained in my mind clear and strong, 
so that I could not choose but think it real. 
And yet, that Frank should have been in 
the library since the morning and never once 
left it ! 

In the afternoon I told the whole to Mr. 
Hilyard, and confessed to him that, although 
I was now certain that I had been deceived 
or that I was under some charm, yet I felt 
uneasy. He received my story with great 
seriousness, and began to consider what it 
might mean. 

' Truly,' he said, * if this be a vision, 
and not a cheat by the girl Jenny — but 
how could she cheat without the assistance 
of Mr. Frank ? — it is a very serious and 
weighty business. It is a pity that you 
did not, before you swooned away, throw 
your arms about the effigies or apparition 
of the girl, as was done by Lord Colchester 
about fifty years ago, when he clasped thin 
air, as Ixion clasped his cloud. We may 
not doubt that warnings may take various 
shapes. Thus it is related on good authority 
from Portsmouth that a gentleman of that 



A STRANGE THING, 97 

place has been lately troubled by the appari- 
tion of a man who constantly pursues him 
and reproaches him for some secret crime ; 
and Colonel Eadcliffe affords another instance, 
who is also followed continually by some 
unseen enemy. There is also the authentic 
story of the ghost of Madam Bendish, of East 
Ham, near London, who lately appeared to an 
old gentleman there, and bade him reprove an 
obstinate son with Proverbs, one, two, and 
three. There was also, only a short time 
ago, the young gentleman of All Hallows, 
Bread Street Parish, who had a vision of 
a burial, the cloth held by four maids, which 
came true of himself. And the ghost of 
Thomas Chambers, of Chesham, in Bucking- 
hamshire, was after his death seen by many, 
but especially the maid of the house, leaning, 
in a melancholy posture, against a tree, attired 
in the same cap and dress in which they 
laid him out. We may no more deny these 
appearances than we may deny the existence 
of the soul or our immortal hopes. Besides 
which, if more testimony were wanted, 
Plutarch, Apuleius, and all the Eoman and 
Grecian histories are full of such instances.' 
VOL. II. 26 



98 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

' But, Mr. Hilyard, is there any like my 
own r 

* I know not one/ he replied, thoughtfully; 
* for there is no threat, nor any call for 
repentance. You have nothing to do with 
gipsies and flogging of backs ; and there 
remains the friendly and comfortable assur- 
ance, if I may make so bold as to say so, 
of my lord's disposition and affection — of 
which I, for one, have long been fully certain. 
So, Miss Dorothy, I would advise and 
counsel that nothing more be said or thought 
about this strange thing, especially to the 
girl, lest she be puffed up with conceit and 
vanity.' 

What happened that same day was this, 
though I heard it not till long afterwards. 
Mr. Hilyard, on leaving me, repaired to a 
quiet chamber, where he w^ould be undisturbed, 
and then sent for Jenny to attend him. 

She came in fear and trembling. 

' Now,' he said, shaking his fore-finger 
in a very terrible way, ' what is this I hear 
about Mr. Francis and yourself ?' 

* I know nothing, sir,' she began, 
'About the camp, now.' 



A STRANGE THING, 99 

' If Miss Dorothy thought she heard Mr. 
Frank tell me about my cousin Pharaoh's 
back, she must have dreamed it.' 

* Now, girl, thou art caught. Know that 
your mistress said not one word to you 
of Pharaoh and his back, which I hope 
hath been soundly lashed for his many 
thieveries. Therefore, since I know it, 
because she told me, and since she hath 
not told you, pray, how do you know it ? 
Girl, on your knees and confess, or worse 
will happen to thee.' 

Upon this she burst into tears, fell upon 
her knees, and confessed a most wonderful 
thing, which made Mr. Hilyard's very wig 
to stand on end, so strange it was. 

She owned that she possessed, having 
learned it from her grandmother, a strange 
and mysterious power over certain persons ; 
that she amused herself with trying it upon 
various men ; that there was a poor fellow 
at Blanchland whom she could make to fetch 
and carry at her will ; but that there was 
no one over whom she had greater power 
than over Mr. Frank. 

Being asked if he knew, she denied it, 

26—2 



loo DOROTHY FORSTER. 

saying that, although it pleased * him to 
converse with her sometimes, and to learn 
from her the secrets of palmistry, and other 
little things which he persuaded her to teach 
him, he had no knowledge of the trance 
into which she could throw him at will ; and 
thatj during that period, he could tell her 
what people were doing anywhere in the 
world, and what were their thoughts ; that 
she was exercising this gift of sorcery, the 
power of which belongs only to the gipsies, 
and to few among them, when Miss Dorothy 
surprised her ; that she hastened to send 
Mr. Frank, still unconscious, back to the 
library, so that, when he returned to himself, 
he knew not that anything had happened ; 
and thereby she was able to deceive her 
mistress. 

* In the name of Heaven, child!' cried 
Mr. Hilyard in affright, ' hast thou such 
a power over me T 

Jenny swore she had none, nor was like 
to have if she tried ; and that she would 
never try upon him, being afraid of detection ; 
nor upon his honour, Mr. Forster, as in duty 
bound ; nor upon her mistress. But that, 



A STRANGE THING. loi 

as to this young gentleman, lie forced himself 
upon her, coming continually to her, and 
begging to have the future revealed, either 
by cards, or by the lines of his hand, or 
the shape of his head, or the circumstances of 
his birth ; and then nothing would satisfy 
him but to know, and to learn for himself 
how, and by what rules and observations, 
these things were done ; so that he laid 
himself directly open, as it were, to the Evil 
One ; and when the young witch, for so 
one must now think her, essayed her art 
upon him, he fell a ready victim ^ Lastly, 
the girl implored Mr. Hilyard, with many 
tears, and on her bended knees, to forgive 
her, promising that never again would she 
speak with Mr. Frank, nor practise upon him 
this truly diabolical art, on penalty of being 
instantly dismissed the service of Miss 
Dorothy, and haled before a Justice of the 
Peace to be dealt with as a witch. 

Well, Mr. Hilyard, as he afterwards con- 
fessed, was greatly concerned at this narrative, 
which surprised as well as terrified him. 
First, he endeavoured to convince the girl 
that. she was in the hands of the Evil One, 



I02 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

who would infallibly, unless she repented, 
bring her to such sufferings as she could 
not yet even dream of; next, that it was 
the height of presumption for her to exercise 
this dreadful power upon a young gentleman ; 
thirdly, he promised to consider what was 
best to be done, and, if he could, to hide 
the fact, on her faithful promise to abstain 
for the future, to fast once a week for six 
months for penance, and to pray night and 
morning to be delivered from the Devil. So 
he dismissed her. 

' Next,' he told me afterwards, ^ I fell 
to thinking how dreadful a thing it must 
be to possess this power, and how constant 
a temptation there would be to use it for 
one's own advantage, or to gratify malice, 
revenge, and private spite : so that, if all 
possessed it, for one who would use it for 
the public good a hundred would use it 
for their own selfish ends. Further, that 
an unfortunate creature under this power, 
and compelled by this influence, might commit 
the most horrible crimes and know nothing 
about it. Why, many a poor wretch may 
have been hanged for things done by command 



A STRANGE THING, 103 

of her who had bewitched him. And as for 
me, I confess (which shows my unworthiness) 
that I forgot the wickedness of tempting 
the Lord and the sin of Saul, and longed 
to consult so strange an oracle on my own 
account. From this I was protected by 
Grace.' 

For my own part, I resolved to say nothing 
about it, thinking that we should leave Dilston 
in a few days, and that meanwhile I would 
watch diligently, and prevent the meeting 
together in any place of the girl and Mr. 
Frank. But she gave me no more trouble, 
and I think there was not another meeting 
before we went away^ 



CHAPTEE XVII. 

HE LOVES ME. 

Of all pleasant things upon the earth, there 
cometh an end in time. Nay, the more 
pleasant are the things, the shorter they 
are, and the faster do they hasten away. 
This is wisely ordained lest we forget in 
the present the joys which await us, greater 
than mind can conceive or tongue can utter, 
in the w^orld to come. Whereas I, for 
my part, by foretaste, and as it were by 
looking through the gates of Paradise (which 
I certainly was permitted to do while my 
lord bestowed his affections upon me), am 
privileged above my less fortunate fellow- 
creatures to know something of the grateful, 
happy, and contented heart of those who 
wear the golden crown and play upon the 
golden harp. 



HE LOVES ME. 105 

As the time drew near for us to go, it 
seemed as if everybody multiplied kindness. 
The two ladies gave me more pretty things 
with generous words, and Lady Mary 
whispered, pressing my hand, * My dear, 
remember that a Eadcliffe must always be 
a Catholic,' and I said ^ Yes; that I knew 
it well,' thinking that she meant only that 
her nephew must not be converted to the 
Church of England by me. Lady Katharine 
took both my hands in hers, and kissed 
me on the forehead, saying that no doubt 
I should be led, by pleasant ways, to see 
the beauty and joyfulness of that Fold wherein 
alone poor sinful man could find peace and 
rest for his soul. This, too, I took for little 
meaning, because she was so good and so 
pious a woman that she wished everybody 
to belong to her own Church. Nor did I 
yet understand what was meant by the text 
which forbids an unequal yoke. Certainly, 
we who had been brought up among so 
many Catholics, seeing them no worse (if 
no better) in honour, loyalty, and virtue 
than ourselves, were not likely to consider 
a man an unbeliever because he attended 



io6 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Mass. To this day, though I have long 
pondered upon the matter, I cannot quite 
persuade myself that St. Paul, when he 
set down certain instruction of his command, 
was thinking of the Pope and his followers. 
No ; I was thinking if I turned my thoughts 
at all in that direction, which I doubt, 
that my lord might go to Dilston Chapel 
and I to Hexham Church, a separation painful 
in the idea, but doubtless it would be made 
tolerable in time. 

Mr. Errington, of Beaufront, hinted at 
the matter more plainly. He said that 
he was rejoiced to find that my lord's fancy 
was so soon, and so happily, fixed. That 
the Forsters were fully the equals of the 
Piadcliffes, though there was not yet an 
earl or a baron among them. 

' My dear,' he said, being an old gentleman 
of a very soft heart, anxious to make ladies 
happy when he could — ' my dear, I knew 
and loved Lady Crewe ten years before 
she married the Bishop : a beautiful creature, 
indeed, she was, and full of great majesty, 
yet not so beautiful as you, my second 
Dorothy, believe me. For thou art as sweet, 



HE LOVES ME, 107 

and gracious withal, as she was dignified. 
We country gentlemen were too rude and 
plain of speech for her. I blame her not, 
and she was born to be a Peeress, as was 
manifest by her beauty and the awe with 
which she surrounded herself, as you, my 
child, for your beauty too, and for your sweet- 
ness. Hath my lord told you that your smile 
is like the sunshine on a field of growing corn ?' 

'Oh, sir!' I replied, * my lord hath paid 
me many sweet compliments, and I think 
my head is half turned.' 

' Nay ; a beautiful woman cannot rejoice 
too much in her beauty. See now. Miss 
Dorothy ; we are all of us pleased that my 
lord shall marry a North-country maiden, 
one of ourselves : the marriage of his father 
was not happy ; w^e desire to keep all 
Eadcliffes to the north ; moreover, generous 
as he is, it cannot be denied that his lordship 
does not know our gentlemen and their ways ; 
nor our people and their ways ; he must 
put off a little of the Versailles manner 
and descend to plain folk.' 

'Oh!' I declared, 'one would not wish 
him altered one jot from what he is.' 



io8 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

' Nay, keep him as he is ; but make 
him something more. It is not enough to 
give ; he must understand his people. Well, 
he can have no kinder schoolmaster. Pretty 
Dorothy! Thy blushes become thee, child, 
as its bloom becomes the peach. As for 
the one obstacle, to my mind it needs not 
to be named. One religion will take a 
man to heaven as well as another, though 
Mr. Howard would not acknowledge it ; 
and I am a Catholic, and should not say 
so. Let not pride prevent the removal of 
that obstacle. A religion held by so goodly 
a part of Christendom cannot be wrong ; and 
you shall be rewarded with the noblest young 
lover that exists, I believe, in the whole 
world.' 

This speech chilled my spirits very con- 
siderably. For to change my religion — 
what would her ladyship say ? What, my 
father ? what, my brother Tom ? what, the 
Bishop ? Yet what matter what all together 
said, if it made my lord happy? And 
so, at the moment, it seemed a small thing 
and easy to change one's articles of religion 
and accept the chains of the Koman Faith. 



• HE LOVES ME, 109 

Next, Mr. Howard sought me and begged 
a word. He said, speaking very gravely, 
that no one could affect ignorance of the 
fact that my lord was fully possessed with 
the idea of a certain lady; that the subject 
was much in his own mind ; that, on the 
one hand, it was greatly to be hoped that 
he would ally himself to a family of the 
north, and with a gentlewoman whose good 
sense and moderation would prevent him from 
falling into the snares always laid for such 
as his lordship. But these dangers were 
increased in his case by his ignorance of 
England and the EngHsh people; for example, 
that there was, he believed, great exaggera- 
tion as to the strength of the Prince's cause, 
and therefore great caution must be observed 
as to any decisive movement ; that he 
believed myself — that certain lady, namely — 
capable of giving good and wise counsel, 
and he earnestly prayed — at this point of his 
discourse the tears came into his eyes — that 
should the thing which he suspected proceed 
farther, -such a measure of light and grace 
might be accorded to that young lady as 
to lead her to the bosom of the ancient 



no DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Church — with more to the same effect, and 
all with such earnestness and so much 
affection towards my lord and his interests, 
as moved me, too, to tears ; especially when 
this venerable man spake of the fellowship 
in the Church of Christ, one and indivisible, 
so much was I moved, so deeply did I feel 
the beauty of the pictures which he drew, 
that I verily believe, had he on the spot 
offered to receive me — if that offer had 
been made in the presence of my lord 
himself — alas ! one knows not ; woman is 
at best a weak creature, easy to be led — 
but there might have been one more Catholic 
in the world ; there might have been a happy 
bride : yet, as we may not choose but believe, 
and as the Bishop himself has often said, 
things are directed for us ; we know not 
for what reason we are guided; nor can 
we tell in the great scheme of the universe 
what part even so insignificant a thing as 
a young woman (though of good family) 
may be called upon to play. His lordship 
was not present ; Mr. Howard did not offer 
to take me to the chapel ; and so, with tears 
on both sides, we parted. Yet it must 



HE LOVES ME, in 

be confessed that I knelt to receive his 
blessing as if he had been the Bishop of 
Durham himself. When one converses with 
Papists like Mr. Howard, men so gentle, 
so blameless in life and conversation, so 
learned and so benevolent, one wonders 
about the hard things said daily of the 
ancient Church ; one forgets the cruel fires 
of Smithfield ; one even forgets the Spanish 
Inquisition itself. It is not till afterwards 
that one asks if it would be possible, even 
for the sake of a lover, to belong to a Church 
which yearly tortures and strangles and 
burns men whose only crime is to think 
for themselves. How can these things be ? 
How can the same Church produce at once, 
in the same generation, such a man as Mr. 
Howard and such as the Grand Inquisitor ? 

Then Frank Eadcliffe came. 

* I am right sorry you are going,' he said. 
* The place will be dull without you, Dorothy. 
My lord will hang his head and mope. 
I shall have no one to talk with. But 
you will come back soon. Promise me that, 
Dorothy. You know very well what I mean. 
Come back and make us all happy/ 



112 DOIWTHY FORSTER. 

* Indeed/ said I; ^ would my coming back 
make you all liappy T 

' First/ lie said, ' it would make my brother 
happy, because he is in love with you ; next, 
me, because I love you too, and just as well, 
but a man must give way to his elder brother; 
next, because Charles also loves j^ou, and 
swears he is your knight till death ; and next, 
on account of my aunts, who will be happy if 
the Earl is happy. All of us, fair Dorothy.' 

* But, Frank — it is good of you to say this 
— but remember that I know not what my lord 
may intend ; and if it were as you say, there 
would be much to consider.' 

' Oh, the Mass — the Mass !' he replied im- 
patiently. ' When one is brought up in the 
Fold, one troubles one's head little about 
these things. To give up the Church would 
be a great thing, but surely there can be no 
trouble about coming back to it.' 

This shows how prejudiced the mind may 
become, when accustomed to the pretensions 
of Eome. But I was better brought up. 

It cannot be denied that the contemplation 
of this amiable family, all combined in press- 
ing upon me to accept what I most of all 



HE LOVES ME. 113 

things in tlie world desired to obtain, was 
very moving to me; and when Lord Derwent- 
water himself conversed with me on the 
subject, I was, I now confess, ready to yield 
unconditional submission. If men only knew 
the weakness of women, they could make 
them say or do what they please. But per- 
haps men themselves are not so strong as 
they seem to be. Indeed, that must be so. 

* Fair Daphne,' my lover began, ' it is sad 
indeed to think that to-morrow thou must go 
from us. The sun will shine no more in 
Dilston.' 

•'Oh, my lord,' I said, 'do not talk any 
more the language of gallantry; you have 
spoiled me enough. I am but plain Tom 
Forster's sister, and in Northumberland we 
are not accustomed to your fine French 
compliments. Let me, however, thank your 
lordship for your very great kindness both to 
my brother and to myself.' 

' Let there be no longer, then,' he said, 
and as he spoke his beautiful eyes grew so 
soft and his voice so sweet that oh ! my 
heart melted clean away, and I could have 
fallen at his feet, even like Esther at the 

VOL. II. 27 



114 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

feet of the great King, and that without 
shame — 'let there be no longer compliments 
between us. You shall be no more the 
nymph Daphne ; you shall be, what you 
are, only Tom Forster's sister — only the 
beautiful and incomparable Dorothy, wiiom 
I love/ 

' Oh, my lord ! Think — I am no great 
lady of fashion — you would be ashamed of 
your rustic passion in a week.' 

' Ashamed ! Why, Dorothy, with their 
paint and patches and powder, there is not, 
believe me, in all Versailles and Paris, to 
say nothing of London, which I know not — 
there is nowhere, I swear, a woman fit to 
hold a candle beside so sw^eet a face as yours. 
My dear, thou art — no, I will not make any 
more compliments. But, Dorothy, I love 
thee.' And with that he fell upon his knee, 
and began to kiss my hand, murmuring 
softly, ' I love thee, my dear — I love thee 
with all my heart.' 

' Oh, my lord !' I repeated, the fatal words 
having been spoken, overwhelmed with a 
kind of terror and awe and shame, because 
why should he love me so much ? ' You 



HE LOVES ME. 115 

love me — you love me — alas ! how can it be ? 
What shall I say — what shall I say T 

' Say only, my dear, that you will love 
me in return.' 

Then there arose in my mind, doubtless 
sent by Heaven, the memory of certain words 
spoken by Mr. Hilyard concerning the Church 
of England — how that it was as ancient as 
the Church of Eome, and as safe, and yet 
unstained by the blood of martyrs. Also, 
I seemed to see before me the awful form of 
the Bishop, tall and menacing, beckoning me 
away. 

* Speak, Dorothy, my dear — oh, Dorothy, 
speak ! "Why are you trembling ? Merciful 
Heaven ! have I said anything to terrify 
this tender heart ? What troubles my 
love r 

' Oh, Lord Derwentwater, it is — the Mass!' 
He let my hand fall, and for a moment he 
was silent. Then he began again, hotly: 

* The Mass ! Is it a Mass shall part us ? 
Why, child, I love thee so well that I will 
give up Church and all for thy sweet sake if 
thou wilt not give up thy Church for mine. 
The Mass against thy hand ! Nay, I too 

27—2 



ii6 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

will become of the English Church. Thou 
hast converted me already.' 

Was there ever so fond and true a lover ? 
But I remembered again what he had said, 
months before, at Blanchland. 

* No, no,' I replied, ^ you cannot. Other 
men, smaller men, may change their faith, 
but you must not. Eemember what you told 
me once ' 

' Doth my sweet Dorothy remember even 
my idle words ? All my words are idle 
except my last — that I love thee.' 

'Do I remember them, my lord? — as if I 
could ever forget them I You said, without 
knowing then what the words might some 
day mean, that I could persuade you to any- 
thing except what concerns your honour, and 
that your honour is concerned with your faith. 
Never — never shall it be said that I sought 
to turn you aside from your honour. My 
lord, if you seriously think of such a thing, 
put it out of your mind. Oh ! what is a 
foolish, worthless girl compared with the 
career and the history of a great lord like 
yourself T 

He would have replied to this in the same 



HE LOVES ME. 117 

hot strain, for there was now in his eyes the 
hot flame of love that will not be denied — 
the masterful look which frightens women, 
and compels them (yet I think he would 
never have compelled me to accept the sacri- 
fice he offered) — but Mr. Howard stepped 
between us. He had, I suppose, entered 
unseen, and heard the last words. 

* I thank you, young lady,' he said, ' in 
the name of a greater even than his lord- 
ship ; the Holy Church thanks you. I would 
that all her daughters were as noble and as 
truly great as yourself. My lord, your passion 
is honourable, as becomes your rank. You 
would neither do yourself, nor ask Miss 
Dorothy to do, what in her conscience she 
would not approve.' 

Lord Derwent water answered not. 

' Part here, my children,' Mr. Howard 
continued; ^enough has been said. You, 
my lord, can afford to wait six months. If 
your passion be what you think it to be, six 
months is a short time indeed for meditation 
and endeavour to make yourself worthy of 
this young lady. And for you, Miss Dorothy, 
I pray you to read the books which I shall 



ii8 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

give you. Believe me, you have my prayers, 
my earnest prayers, and those of the two 
saintly ladies of this house. In six months 
my lord, if he be in the same mind, and 
unless you have already sent him away, will 
look for your reply.' 

Lord Der went water, without a word, fell 
on his knee again, and kissed my fingers. 
Then he left the room with bowed head. 

* Not the chief of the Eadcliflfes only, but 
also his wife and his children and grand- 
children must remain in the ancient Catholic 
Faith,' said Mr. Howard gravely. 

And then I understood, for the first time 
fully, that the passion of my lord, however 
vehement, would never, b}^ those greater than 
himself, be allowed to imperil his adherence 
to the old rehgion. Alas ! just as poor Frank 
had said, ' You play with us, you feast with 
us, you sport with us ; but you will not 
allow us to fight for you, or to make laws 
for you, to administer justice to you.' So 
I thought bitterly that I might say, as a 
Protestant, to the Catholics, ' You play with 
us, you feast with us, you make love to us ; 
but you will not marry us.' 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

a" CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 

So, after a long ride of three days, we 
arrived again at Bamborougli — what things 
had I seen since last we left the Manor 
House ! — and in the quiet life as of old I 
had leisure to read and reflect upon the 
tracts and books given to me by Mr. Howard. 
In so far as they spoke of obedience to autho- 
rity, then truly I was entirely at one with his 
friends, because I had always been brought 
up to submit myself dutifully to those in 
authority, and especially my spiritual pastors 
and masters. Yet I was thankful that our 
own rule was so light and our yoke so easy 
to be borne compared with the practices im- 
posed upon the faithful in that other flock — 
as fasting throughout Lent, and on Fridays, 
and on many other days in the year. But 



I20 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

when the books spoke of Early Fathers, and 
writings almost sacred, and Decretals, and so 
forth, then was I lost ; because if these things 
were true, why was not the Lord Bishop 
converted long since, and the Yicar of Bam- 
borough ? And if things were not true, as 
were therein stated, why was not the Pope 
himself long since converted ? Ah ! how happy 
a thing it would be for the whole world if the 
Pope could be converted ! There would then 
be no more Inquisitions, no more tortures, 
no more quarrels, no more parting of lovers. 
The Bishop of Eome would be but as the 
Bishop of Canterbury — and this is a foolish 
woman's idle dream. 

Truly, I was little forwarded for all my 
reading. I had no one with whom I could 
consult, because, as my lord's proposals had 
not been made either to Tom or to my father, 
they were in a manner secret, at least for 
six months. Strange that Tom suspected 
nothing. Never was there at any time a 
man whose thoughts ran less upon love or 
anything to do with love ; and as he never 
fell in love himself (which in the sequel 
proved a fortunate circumstance), so he never 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 121 

thought that any would fall in love with his 
sister. Still less would it appear to him 
possible that this could be the case with so 
great and exalted a man as Lord Derwent- 
water, for whom he entertained a profound 
veneration in spite of continual assurances, 
made to gratify his own vanity, that a Forster 
was as good as a Eadcliffe (which no one has 
ever doubted, I believe). 

For a time, therefore, I meditated alone 
upon this important matter. It would be 
foolish to deny that I was greatly taken by 
the prospect which thus suddenly and unex- 
pectedly opened out before my eyes. Natural 
pride in my own family forbade any feeling 
of inferiority — that James Eadcliffe was the 
third Earl was only owing to his father's 
marriage with King Charles's daughter, who 
must needs have a husband among the Peers. 
The first baronet of the House received this 
title after — not before — the honour of knight- 
hood was conferred upon Sir Claudius Forster. 
There was, therefore, no inequality as to 
family; and as for lands, possessions, and 
wealth, it may be truly said that these entered 
little into my mind. But I acknowledge that 



122 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

my imagination was fired with the person 
and the qualities possessed by the owner of 
this coronet and these lands ; and never since 
have I looked upon the like of that noble 
gentleman — call him rather a prince — in 
whom were gathered together so many virtues 
without one defect. I felt in some sort even 
ashamed that such a man might offer his 
hand and service to one simple and inex- 
perienced as I was, a mere gentlewoman 
with nothing but my beauty (such as that 
might be) and my virtue and piety (why, 
there was the rub) to recommend me. He 
knew Courts, and the great ladies of Ver- 
sailles and St. Germain's. Was there one of 
them too high for him ? Was there, among 
the greatest ladies of the proudest aris- 
tocracy in the world, even the Eolians, 
the Montmorencies, or the Lusignans, any 
who would not be honoured by such an 
offer from James Eadcliffe, Earl of Derwent- 
water ? 

To refuse it would seem madness ; yet to 
accept it would be — might be — a sin so great 
that it would never be forgiven. It is cruel 
when religion is pitted against love, and 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 123 

when a girl has to choose between her lover 
and her hopes of heaven. 

For who can be converted by merely 
wishing ? Who, by argument, reading, or 
thinking, can put away from his mind the 
doctrines in which he hath been brought up 
from childhood ? A woman might bring her- 
self to hear Mass, to call herself a Catholic, 
to confess, to submit to the Church for the 
sake of her lover and her husband ; but wdth 
what despair must she look forward to that 
day when she must give up the pretence, 
and confess the falsehood of her life before 
an offended Judge ! 

I had from infancy been taught, and now 
firmly held, the doctrines of the Christian 
faith as professed by the Church of England. 
By what reasoning could I, unassisted, ex- 
change these for the Eoman Catholic doc- 
trines ? And, even if assisted — say by Mr. 
Howard — with what face could I ever after- 
wards meet the Bishop, and own to him that 
the autJiority of this simple Eomisli priest 
had more weight for me than the authority 
of himself, the great and lordly Bishop of 
Durham ? Or with what reply could I meet 



124 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

the charge that I had thrown away my 
religion to get me a lover ? Oh, shame ! 
Yet such a lover ! 

The soul can play all manner of juggling 
tricks with herself. Therefore it is not 
wonderful that a woman should be led away 
for a time with cases and arguments which 
at first looked pretty enough, yet soon 
crumbled into dust and ashes. As that 
Naaman was allowed to go with his master 
into the Temple of Kimmon, though it is 9 
nowhere stated that he was to profess the 
worship of that idol, whoever he may be. 
(Mr. Hilyard said it was the Pomegranate 
'and the symbol of fertility ; but who would ' 
be so foolish as to worship a mere fruit ? 
Naaman's master must surely have been 
better than a fool.) And again, the example 
of Henry IV. of. France, which hath misled 
many. Truly no more wicked speech 
could have been made than that of his, h 
in which he spoke of valuing the crown of 
France at more than a Mass. Put against 
this the noble example of Queen Elizabeth, 
who, in the reign of Queen Mary, went 
daUy in peril of her life, yet would not 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 125 

give up the Protestant religion ; and, if you 
will, the examples of King James II. and his 
son, who gave up three crowns rather than 
relinquish the faith which they ^wi^mgly)' 
believed to be true. There is no help for 
it, I suppose, but that women brought up 
in the Eoman Faith must needs abide in it. 
How much the more, then, that we, who 
belong to the Pure and Eeformed branch 
of the Universal Church, should cling to 
it as the only hope of our souls ! As for 
controversy, Mr. Hilyard once said well, 
* There is nothing more excellent than 
religion ; but to raise quarrels over it is 
to dishonour it. Why should that which 
is designed to make us happy in another 
world make us miserable in this ? Where- 
fore it comes to this, that we shall never 
all be perfectly happy till we are all agreed 
upon the Thirty-nine Articles of the Faith.' 

When that happy event will happen none 
can predict — perhaps not till long after the pre- 
sent century — a third part of which is, while I 
write these words, already gone; perhaps not 
till the nineteenth century itself is drawing to a 
close, and the end of all things is approaching. 



126 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Then I laid the case, but with feigned 
names and false circumstances, before Mr. 
Hilyard. I inquired of him his oj^inion 
as to change of creed in general, whether 
there were no cases in which it would be 
allowed (always supposing that reason and 
conscience went the other way). Thus I 
put before him (as if the Prince was in 
my mind) the case of a sovereign whose 
conversion, real or pretended, would bring 
happiness to his country ; or a godly minister 
whose obedience to the law would secure 
his services to his helpless parishioners ; or a 
bishop who, by outward conforming, might 
keep moderate doctrines in his diocese ; or 
a gentleman who, by professing himself of 
the Church of England, might obtain a com- 
mission of the Queen, and so rise to great 
honour ; or a woman who, by acknowledging 
a faith in which her conscience forbade 
her to engage, might make her lover happy, 
and, perhaps in the event, lead him to her 
own Church. 

There never, surely, was a man stronger 
in the cause of virtue than Mr. Hilyard. 
If there were more like him, the wickedness 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 127 

of the age would long since have wholly 
vanished. As for the example of his private 
life, it becomes not a fellow- sinner to judge. 
If we may compare small with great, it 
cannot be denied that the King who wrote 
(by Divine guidance) the most perfect book 
of rules for the conduct of life, did by no 
means set a pattern of self-denial in his. own 
practice. So with Mr. Hilyard. 

I put forward my question with much 
confusion and many blushes, because I feared 
that Mr. Hilyard might guess the cause 
and secret purpose of my simulated cases. 
He answered not for some moments, looking 
earnestly into my face. Then he, too, 
changed colour, and gave his answer, walking 
about the room and in some agitation of 
manner which surprised me. 

* As for the cases advanced,' he said, 
^ there are none to be for a moment con- 
sidered, except the last. The King who 
sacrificed his conscience to his ambition laid 
open a way to greater evils. Heaven raised 
up in Henry IV. a champion for the Protestant 
Faith second only to that great and god-like 
man, Coligny. Had he adhered, the wars 



128 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

might have continued and France might 
have been partitioned ; but the Protestants 
would have won their freedom. The duty 
of a minister is clearly indicated in the 
history and example of Mr. Gilpin, of 
Houghton-le- Spring, who persevered in his 
Protestant teaching throughout the reign 
of Bloody Mary, ever keeping ready a white 
shirt in which to present a comely appearance 
at the stake. Yet, being haled up to London, 
he broke his leg, which, causing him to 
lie in bed; saved his life, because Mary 
died, and good Queen Bess succeeded. As 
for a young gentleman of a Catholic family, 
we have,' he said, ' many instances around 
us of those who, for want of a profession, 
pass idle and ignoble lives, as if drinking 
and sport were the only objects for which 
man, a rational being, was created. But 
as for their consciences, you must please to 
excuse me. I doubt much whether the 
conscience of such a young gentleman would 
trouble him so much as his sense of honour ; 
and once entered upon the roll of a regiment, 
there would be mighty little further question 
as to religion. The English armies,' he 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE, 129 

added, * are Protestant to the backbone. 
That cannot be denied. Yet how far their 
lives and daily conversation are guided by 
their religion, and how far their practice 
is conversant with their profession, I am 
not prepared to say. If, therefore, Miss 
Dorothy, any of his honour's Catholic friends 
are minded to renounce the Pope, in order 
to bear a pike or carry the colours, encourage 
them by all means.' 

' There remains,' he went on to say, 
* the last case.' Again he stopped, and 
again earnestly gazed upon my face. ' I 
am not, I confess, skilled in casuistry ; nor 
can I advise as to the case. Yet, were it 
to arise, I would advise the w^oman to 
whom it occurs to take the matter seriously 
in hand, and if she have friends and relations 
in authority and high places, to lay the 
decision before them, as one which affects 
not her happiness only or the happiness 
of her lover, but also her conscience and 
her soul.' He said this very seriously, so 
that his words fell deeply into my heart. 

* I know,' he went on, ' that a beauLiful 
woman can persuade a man who loves her 

VOL. II. 28 



I30 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

to any course which she desires ; for which 
cause Kings are led by their mistresses, 
and, in CathoHc countries, the mistresses 
are guided by the priests. We need not 
go back to consider the case of Achilles, 
of Samson, iEneas, David, Marc Antony, 
and Solomon. There are instances enough 
of our own times. Witness our own Charles II., 
and the Grand Monarque himself, now a 
slave to Madame de Maintenon. Truly, Miss 
Dorothy, an amorous man is like a weathercock 
in the hands of the woman whom he loves. 
Wherefore the poets have rightly feigned 
that love turns one into a boar, and another 
into an ass, and a third into a wolf — why, 
the French King hath been boar, wolf, 
and ass in turn. But, you may argue, the 
virtuous love of one woman and one man 
is not to be compared with the fleeting 
amours of a King. That is indeed true ; 
not the less is it true that the woman able 
to ^n the affections of one who, though 
a husband, remains a lover, may lead him 
whithersoever she pleases. The case. Miss 
Dorothy, is too high for me. If I were 
a Jesuit, I should say, ** The end justifies 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 131 

the means ; let the maiden confer happiness 
upon the man, relying on her strength to 
lead him into a better way/' But I am 
an English Churchman, and I doubt. The 
rule is laid down plain for all to read, ^* The 
lip of truth shall be established for ever, 
but a lying tongue is but for a moment." 
Wherefore let this young gentlewoman seek 
counsel of those in authority.' 

Mr. Hilyard said this with so much 
gravity that his words sank into my heart, 
and I began to ask myself seriously whether, 
even for my lover, I ought to do so grave 
a thing. For several days afterwards I 
observed that he was agitated, and would 
go a- walking by himself in the garden, shak- 
ing his forefinger as he went, as one does 
who is in trouble. I knew very well, poor 
man, that he was in trouble about me, 
and that he had divined my secret. 

I followed not his advice, however, in 
asking the counsel of those in authority. 
Eather I put the decision off, as is the 
custom of women when in a doubt. Time, 
accident, authority, would decide. Again, 
a woman must not for ever be thinking about 

28—2 



132 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

her love affairs. Was there not my brother 
Tom to think of ? Then came the spring, 
and Jnne v/as upon us, and my lord's visit 
was to come within a very little while, 
and I was no nearer the Altar and the Mass 
(yet open to persuasion) than I had been 
at the New Year. - 

I know not how Lady Crewe became 
possessed of my secret, and therefore I was 
greatly astonished when I received, only 
the day before my lord arrived, the following 
letter, sent to me all the way from Durham 
by special messenger. The letter, wrapped 
in three folds of paper, was superscribed : 
' These for the private eye of my niece, 
Dorothy Forster.' I opened it with such 
fear and trembling as always seize the person 
who receives a letter. And all the more 
because I knew from whence it came, and 
guessed quickly what it might contain. 

* My dear and loving Niece,' the letter 
began, — ' It hath been brought to my know- 
ledge that a young gentleman, whose name 
need not be mentioned between us, is desirous 
of making thee an offer of his hand and 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 133 

estate. The hand is most honourable and 
the estate is goodly. Also the young gentle- 
man is reported to possess virtues and accom- 
plishments quite uncommon even among those 
of exalted rank. For these reasons, the 
Bishop and myself would be willing to give 
our approval to the proposal as one likely 
to lead to the earthly happiness of both, 
although the suitor is still a man in very 
early manhood. My own happiness, as my 
niece knows very well, has been obtained by 
marriage with a man forty years my senior, 
and immeasurably above what any woman 
can hope in wisdom, benevolence, and true 
piety. Yet I say not that happiness may 
not be had between persons more nearly 
of an age — when, that is, the husband is 
able to inspire respect, if not awe, and the 
wife is filled with the desire of doing her 
duty according to the submission enjoined by 
Apostolic law. 

' There is, however, in this case, the 
difficulty that the young gentleman is a 
Catholic, and may not marry any outside 
the pale of his own Church. Nor can he, 
being bound in honour, change the faith 



134 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

in which he hath been educated. My lord 
the Bishop hath very seriously considered 
the case, and asked himself the question 
whether a young woman in such a position 
may with a good conscience embrace the 
religion of her lover. He bids me now 
admonish you that such an act, even with 
the intention of, perhaps, weaning her lover 
from his opinions, cannot be allowed as 
lawful or permitted on the ground of expedi- 
ency. Wherefore, my dear Dorothy, should 
this suit be persevered in, we look from 
thee for such behaviour as becomes the 
dignity of a Forster and the duty of a Church- 
woman. And think not but that thou shalt 
be rewarded in some way — how, we know 
not, yet believe that she who doth righteously 
shall receive a crown. Marriage, child, is an 
honourable condition ; yet they do well some- 
times who are not married ; and truly, I 
myself waited until I was already twenty- 
seven before I married my lord. 

* I learn, further, that thy brother knoweth 
nought of this matter. It is well ; Tom is 
more generous than prudent ; his counsels are 
too much guided by the wine of yesterday. 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 135 

Tell him nothing unless it be necessary ; let 
it not be known for vanity's sake that this 
alliance was offered to you ; let it be kept a 
secret, for the sake of the young gentleman, 
that you refused him. In all difficulties, my 
dear niece, write to me for guidance, resting 
well assured that the Bishop is ever ready to 
give his consideration to the affairs of his 
wife's family. 

* I hear little or nothing new from London. 
They talk of letters between the Prince and 
his sister ; and that he is now at Bar-le-Duc. 
Our friends in London are daily growing more 
confident, and the country is reported more 
impatient ; therefore we hope and pray daily 
that when the Queen dies, though this event 
may not happen for a great many years, the 
Prince will quietly return and take his place 
without opposition, or any bloodshed. 

' I grieve that my nephew Tom doth not 
yet consider it to be his duty to marry, so 
that heirs may be reared for the great estate 
which he will some day obtain. The mis- 
fortunes of the Forsters in losing three goodly 
sons without issue have been so great that I 
would fain see another generation arise in 



136 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

wliom the line should be continued. There 
were nine of us as children — who would 
desire more ? — and now but one survives — 
myself. I learn that the monument I have 
ordered for my late brothers' memory is nearly 
ready for Bamborough Church ; wherefore I 
purpose this summer, if my lord's health 
continues good, to journey northwards, in 
order to see that my design hath been faith- 
fully carried out. I am desired by the Bishop 
to convey to thee his blessing. 

* Thy loving Aunt, 

* Dorothy Crewe.' 

This letter was like a surgeon's knife, so 
keen was its edge and so intolerable was its 
pain, even though it was wholesome for the 
soul ! 

The inclination of a girl is not a thing 
with which the world is concerned. Yet I 
must confess that the pain, the anguish, the 
bitterness of losing that dear hope which had 
made me happy for six months, were more 
than I could well bear. Alas ! I know the 
pains of love as well as the blessings of love. 
Oh ! why- — why could they not let me alone ? 



A CASE OF CONSCIENCE. 137 

Why should not I make my lord happy for a 
short lifetime, and pretend for his dear sake 
the belief which I could not feel ? Happy 
those who number not a bishop among their 
parents and superiors ! 

So farewell, love ! And now for a time 
the sun was to be darkened, the moon i,j^as to 
shed no light ; there would be no perfume of 
flowers, sweet breath of wind : the sea should 
be a blood-red sheet, and the green fields as 
a desert of sand, until the Lord should send 
a softened heart with resignation to the 
Heavenly will. 



CHAPTEE XIX. 

MY DECISION. 

Just as Mr. Forster's visit to Dilston is by- 
some pretended to have had a political 
meaning, so Lord Derwentwater's visit to 
Bamborough in the following -June is also 
wrongly so described, as will immediately 
become apparent. In truth, there was in 
neither any political or rebellious intentions 
whatever; but as at Dilston the KadclifFe 
cousins assembled to keep their Christmas 
and New Year wdth the Earl, so at Bam- 
borough the Protestant gentlemen, including 
those who then and afterwards remained well 
affected to the Hanover usurpation, gathered 
together to meet Lord Derwentwater. People 
in the south cannot understand how Pro- 
testants and Catholics can meet in North- 
umberland without immediately falling to 



A/y DECISION. 139 

loggerheads and quarrelling about the Pope. 
And it seems the belief of the common sort 
in London that the appearance of a Catholic 
should be the signal for the throwing of 
brickbats, dead cats, and stones at his head. 
This kind of piety we do not understand. 
Alas ! it was my unhappiness during this 
time of company, when everyone expected 
smiles and a face of joy, to feel that such a 
reply would have to be given to my lord as 
would fill two hearts with unhappiness. I 
carried Lady Crewe's letter with me always, 
not for comfort, but for support, for it afforded 
me small consolation to know that I had the 
permission or license of the Ohurch to make 
myself unhappy. Father Howard, on the 
other hand, would have given me authority to 
be happy. I perceived, too, that Mr. Hilyard 
had fully divined my secret, because he now 
sat glum, and looked at me with eyes full of 
pity, though he spoke not for a time. This 
is a grievous thing for a young woman who 
hath a great secret, to find that a third person 
has guessed it ; for then must she either 
confess it to that person, in which case she 
blabs the secret of another, or she must go 



I40 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

on pretending to hide what has ah^eady been 
discovered, Hke an ostrich with her eggs, or 
the peHcan who is said to bury her head in 
the sand, and so to think that all is concealed. 
Mr. Hilyard gave no sign of his discovery 
save by tell-tale ej^es, which, dissimulator of 
looks though he was, could not hide from 
me the truth that he knew my trouble and 
sorrow. 

A day or two before my lord arrived, he 
began, Tom being present, to speak very 
briskly about badgers, otters, cub-foxes, sea- 
fowl, and other things with which his lordship 
might be amused ; and presently, Tom having 
withdrawn, he said to me gravely : 

' Miss Dorothy, I would that I could hope 
to see the roses return to your cheeks when 
my lord comes. Believe me, those others 
who love you (in thine own station and with 
the respect due) take it greatly to heart that 
they see you thus going in sorrow and 
trouble.' 

At these kind words I began to cry and 
lament. 

*Nay,' he said, 'there is, be assured, no 
man in the world w^orth your tears. And 



MV DECISION. 141 

there is remedy for those who will find it, 
as is shown in the ^' Eemedium Amoris." 
Cressida forsook Troilus for Diomede ; Paris 
left (Enone for Helen ; Helen preferred, to 
the tender care of the best of husbands, Paris 
and the flouts of the Trojan ladies ; one Cupid 
is painted contending with another, because 
one love driveth out another.' 

*I know not,' I replied, * how there can 
be two loves in one life. These are idle 
words, Mr. Hilyard. What is Helen or 
Cressida to me ?' 

' It were much to be desired,' said Mr. 
Hilyard, without replying to this question, 
* that the passion of love could be treated as 
copiously and minutely by ingenious women 
as it hath been by men, who have written all 
the love-stories and poems on love, so that 
the world may very well learn the miseries 
caused by that passion in men, and its in- 
citements, growth, violence, and remedies. 
Yet for women there has been nothing (a few 
fragments by Sappho excepted) written by 
themselves to tell of the origin, symptoms, 
and strength of the passion, nor how it differs 
from the corresponding emotion in men. So 



142 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

that, tlioiigli physicians may very well under- 
stand the existence of the disease (if it be a 
disease), even though it exhibit to outward 
view less violent symptoms than in men, 
they are apt to treat it as if it were the same 
in kind, whereas (as I conceive and in my 
poor judgment) it is by no means of the same 
kind. This I could make manifest to you, 
had you the patience to listen/ 

* Indeed, sir,' I said, *I doubt not that 
you are a v^ry learned person ; but suffer me, 
pray, to know my own heart without your 
interpretation.' 

' For the cure of love in 3'oung men,' he 
went on, ' there are prescribed many things 
of little service in the case of the other sex. 
For instance, fasting, exercise, study, the use 
of lettuce, melons, water-lilies, and rue, com- 
bined (in obstinate cases) with flogging. None 
of these remedies seem convenient or apt for 
a woman ; indeed, for a true remedium amoris 
I think there is nothing absolutely sovereign 
for a woman, except the comprehension or the 
discovery that the object of her passion, on 
account of some vitium or defect which he 
may possess in mind or body, is among his 



MY DECISION. 143 

fellows contemptible or mean. Others tliink 
that a woman is most easily cured by the 
knowledge of her lover's infidelity or loss of 
affection ; but this produces jealousy, and 
jealousy incites to revenge, or even madness. 
Wherefore, Miss Dorothy, I would recommend 
to all youDg ladies who are in love that they 
should steadily keep before their imaginations 
the imperfections of their lovers.' 

^ Oh, sir,' I cried, ' this talk is trifling ! 
You have found out my secret ^and shamed 
me. You know that I love a man whom I 
cannot marry. Let that be enough. Why 
tease me with, this foolish prating of lettuce 
and water-lilies ? My lord may — nay, he 
must — go away and find another woman for 
his wife. This must I bear without jealousy 
or revenge, as a Christian woman should, 
because there is no help for it. But that I 
should think upon his defects, who hath none ! 
Fie, Mr. Hilyard ! I thought not you could 
say anything so foolish and so cruel.' 

* Forgive me,' he replied, seeing that I 
was now moved to anger. 

*Why, after this foolish talk about fickle 
women (I may not have been so beautiful as 



144 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Helen, but I have certainly been more con- 
stant), and about the symptoms of love (as if 
any woman who respects herself would talk 
to a man about her thoughts and hopes), and 
about love's remedies and lettuces (as if what 
one eats and drinks could alter the afifections 
of the heart !) — after all this talk, I say, to 
advise me that I should fix my mind on my 
lord's imperfections — of all men the least 
imperfect !' 

' Forgive me, Miss Dorothy. I know of 
no defects in his lordship, except that he hath 
made you unhappy with loving you — a thing 
which he could not help, unless he had been 
the most insensible of men. Yet I would 
venture on anything if I could only restore 
the merry face of my mistress. Did you 
take counsel with any — any in authority T 

Here he blushed and looked shamefaced ; 
I know not wh}^ 

* Lady Crewe hath written to me, enjoining 
me, in the name of the Bishop, to proceed 
no farther.' 

*Yet your happiness is more to me — I 
mean, to yourself — even than the order of 
the Bishop. Wherefore, Miss Dorothy ' (he 



MY DECISION. 145 

endeavoured to speak boldly, but failed, and 
spoke in some confusion, like unto one who 
first would open up his mind as regards a 
horrid crime) — Svherefore let us consider that 
case of conscience which you once laid before 
me again; It may be that — we shall see — 
the Bishop may not thoroughly understand. 
There are excuses' (he seemed feeling about 
for them). ' It may very well be argued that 
a young gentlewoman, such as you described 
in your questions, might be considered as an 
exceptional case ; for not only her own, but 
also her lover's happiness, is concerned. And 
he a great nobleman. And though we hold a 
purer form of faith, yet it cannot be denied 
that the Catholics have a most venerable ' 

* Oh, Mr. Hilyard,' I interrupted, * your 
arguments come too late !' 

'If you are unhappy,' he rej)lied, 'how 
much more I, who am the cause !' 

' You the cause ?' 

' Yes,' he hung his head ; 'because — because 
— well, if I had given a diflferent reply to that 
question.' 

He sighed again, and went away ; but 
looked as if there was something still on his 

VOL. II. 29 



146 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

mind, if he dared to say it out. And still 
he was silent, and behaved like one Tvith 
a burden on his conscience when in my com- 
pany. But this did not at all prevent him 
from being in good voice, and with a cheerful 
countenance, such as becomes a man who 
is happy and of a clear conscience, when 
Mr. Forster had visitors and the drinking and 
singing began. However, I had long ceased 
to wonder at the valuations in this man, 
all for virtue in the morning, with a con- 
science tender, and converse pious and sincere. 
Yet in the evening, virtue forgotten, folly 
made welcome, and revelry proclaimed with 
wicked and idle songs. 

The month of June is the spring of 
Noi-thumberland, and a most beautiful time 
it is, when every morning yields a new 
surprise, and the dullest heart cannot but 
rejoice in the long days and the warm 
sunshine, after the cold east winds of April 
and May. In June the very sands upon 
the shore below the castle show of brighter 
hue, while the hedges are gay with flowers, 
and the trees are all glorious with their 
nsw finery of leaf. Kowhere, Mr. Hilyard 



MY DECISION. HI 

assures me, are the leaves of the trees more 
large and full, or the flowers of field, hedge, 
and ditch more varied, than in this favoured 
county. It is in this month that a. young 
lover should woo his mistress ; it was in 
this month that Lord Derwentwater came 
to pay his court to one who was, alas ! bidden 
to say him nay. 

He came for no other purpose — though 
it was given out that he came to stay 
with Tom Forster, to visit his property 
in the north of the county (in right of 
this the north transept ofBamborough Church 
belonging to him), to talk politics, and 
whatever the people pleased — he came, I say, 
with no other object than to see me, and to 
remind me that the six months had come to 
an end. 

On the first day, and on the second, 
and on the third, there was no opportunity 
for private discourse between us, because 
there was no moment when so honoured 
a guest was left alone to follow his own 
course unattended ; one gentleman after 
another being presented to his lordship, 
and continual amusements (whereof great 

29—2 



148 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

men must become wearied) being provided 
for him. But still he followed me with 
eyes full of love, and still I trembled, thinking 
of what was to come, and how I should 
find the courage to say it. 

The first day he explored, with a great 
company, the dismantled and ruinous 
chambers of the great castle, Mr. Hilyard 
going with the party in order to discourse 
upon the history and antiquities of the 
place, to describe its sieges, and to enlarge 
upon the greatness of the Forsters, so that 
some gentlemen present of equally good 
family wished that they, too, had in their 
own houses an Oxford scholar who could 
keep their accounts, rehearse, as if he were 
a great historian, the ancient glories of 
their line, and in the evening sing, and 
act, and play the buffoon for them to laugh. 
Truly a valuable servant, a Phoenix of 
stewards ! Lord Derwentwater spoke in 
great admiration of this venerable pile, com- 
pared with which, he said, his own ruined 
castle of Langley was small and insignificant. 
He also made some very pertinent remarks 
about the decay of great families; and the 



MY DECISION. 149 

passage of estates into the female line, and 
congratulated Mr. Forster the Elder (of 
Etherston) on the happy circumstances which 
still preserved this great monument for the 
original and parent stock, not knowing the 
truth, that the place belonged to none other 
than Lord Crewe. 

In the evening there was a very splendid 
supper ; not, truly, so fine as could be 
given at Dilston, but a banquet to simple 
gentlemen, and there was great havoc among 
the bottles, though as usual his lordship 
begged early to be excused, on the ground 
that though his heart was Northumbrian, 
his head was still French, and could not 
endure the generous potations of his friends. 
They would have been better pleased had 
he remained toasting and drinking with them, 
until all were laid on the floor together. 
In this manner, indeed, many of them proved 
the friendliness with which they regarded his 
lordship. 

The next day a party was made up to 
go a-shaoting among the wild birds of the 
Staples and the Fames, though there is little 
sport where the birds are so plentiful and 



I50 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

SO tame that it is mere slaughter and butchery. 
That seems to me true sport when a pheasant 
is discerned among the bushes, and presently- 
put up ; or a covey of partridges rises among 
the turnips, or a fox is made to stake his 
swiftness and cunning against the swiftness 
of the hounds ; but it is a poor thing indeed 
to stand upon a rock and shoot among a 
flying crowd of birds w^lio have no fear of 
man. 

On the morning of the fourth day, Lord 
Derwentwater rose early, and finding me 
already up and dressed, surprised me by 
asking for a dish of chocolate. The habit 
of drinking chocolate in the morning, although 
it hath found great favour (surely it is a most 
delightful and wholesome beverage) among 
the ladies, is as yet little esteemed by the 
gentlemen of the north. To these last a 
tankard of small- ale is considered better for 
the composing of tlie stomach and the satisfy- 
ing of thirst. 

' You shall have, my lord,' I said, ' as 
fine a dish of chocolate as if you were at 
St. Germain's itself.' 

I begged him to wait a few minutes only, 



MY DECISION, 151 

and ran quickly and called Jenny, my maid, 
to help me. Then, though my heart was 
beating, I made the chocolate with my own 
hands, strong, hot, and foaming, while Jenny 
spread a white cloth and laid the table in the 
garden under a walnut-tree. When the 
chocolate was ready I found a new scone 
made of the finest meal, boiled two or three 
eggs, and spread all out, with cream and 
yellow butter from the dairy, and a dish 
of last year's honey. 

'Your breakfast is ready, my lord,' I said, 
like a waiting-maid. ' But you must take 
it in the garden, where I have laid it for you.' 

He followed me, and protested that he 
had neither expected nor deserved so great an 
honour as to be served by Miss Dorothy. 

'I am pleased,' I said, ' and honoured in 
doing so small a service for your lordship, 
if you can eat eggs and honey and drink 
chocolate, instead of pressed beef and beer.' 

' It is the food of the gods,' he replied, ' or, 
at least, of Arcadian shepherds. Dorothy, 
was there ever in Arcadia such a shepherdess ?' 

One knows not what might have been said 
further had not Mr. Hilyard appeared abruptly, 



152 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

taking the early air in a morning -gown, 
ragged and worn. He would have retired, 
seeing his lordship, hut I bade him stay. 

'Here is another of our shepherds,' I 
said. ' But fie, Mr. Hilyard ! Do shepherds 
in Arcadia wear ragged gowns when they 
rise in the morning to see great noblemen T 

' Mr. Hilyard will not allow anyone to 
forget him,' said his lordship kindly. * He 
discourses learnedly by day on history and 
antiquity, and in the evening he displays the 
powers of the most accompHshed mime. I 
thank you, sir, for your exertions in both 
capacities. Especially, let me say, for the 
former.' 

' My lord,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' I am like 
the nightingale. My pipe is kept for the 
evening. By day I am at the commands of 
Miss Dorothy.' 

* Then, sir, truly you ought to be the 
happiest of men.' 

'My lord,' replied Mr. Hilyard gravely, 
' I have the kindest and best of mistresses, 
who hath ever treated me with a consideration 
I should be the basest wretch not to feel 
and acknowledge. In this house there is not 



MV DECISION. 153 

one who doth not daily pray for her happiness, 
and I, who am the most unworthy, pray the 
most continually/ 

So saying, he bowed low and left the 
garden, for which I thanked him in my heart, 
knowing why he did so ; and yet trembled, 
because I remembered my weakness at Dilston, 
and that I would need to keep careful watch 
over my words, to discipline my inclinations, 
and to submit myself and my will wholly 
to the authority of the Bishop. 

Then were we left alone in the garden, 
whither in the early morning none ever 
came, except sometimes the gardener. The 
place was well fitted for our talk, being 
a bower surrounded on two sides by a haw- 
thorn hedge, now all in blossom and at 
its sweetest ; on the third side having an 
elderberry-tree, just preparing to flower, and 
looking upon the bowling-green. Often in 
the warm evenings the gentlemen would take 
their tobacco after supper in this retreat. 

* Will your lordship first eat your break- 
fast ?' I said, when Mr. Hilyard left us. 
* I hope you will find the chocolate to your 
liking. Let me give you a little more cream ; 



154 DOROTHY FORSiER. 

the eggs are new laid this morning ; the 
air should sharpen your appetite ' — talking 
fast, so that he might he tempted to go 
on eating, and forget for a moment what 
was in his mind. But he pushed the plate 
from him. 

* Dorothy,' he cried, * you think that I 
can eat when I have found at last an oppor- 
tunity to speak with you ? For what reason, 
think you, did I come here ? Was it to 
shoot hirds on the islands ? Was it to drink 
the Prince's health ?' 

' Alas ! my lord, can you not refrain for a 
little while ? Oh, let me he happy for 
a short half-hour in serving you ! Let me 
talk of other things — of Dilston. Is your 
brother, Mr. Frank, well and cheerful ? Is 
Mr. Charles still in good spirits ? How 
is the good Mr. Howard ?' 

' No, Dorothy, I cannot refrain. I must 
tell you — because I came here to tell you — 
that I love you more and more. I think 
upon your image by day and by night. Five 
months of meditation have made me only 
more thy slave. My dear, give me life, or 
bid me go away and die.' 



MY DECISION, 155 

Now, Heaven guard the religion of a poor 
weak woman ! 

Then, while he fell upon his knee and 
kissed my hand as he had done at Dilston, 
the same strange weakness fell upon me, 
like a swoon or fainting-fit ; my knees 
trembled as I stood ; my heart began to 
beat fast, my eyes swam, and I said 
nothing. Oh ! so overwhelming and so 
strong is this passion in man that it carries 
away a woman, too, like a straw in a current. 
And all this while his voice fell upon my 
ear like music. 

* Oh, Dorothy, Dorothy ! there is nowhere 
in this world so divine a face ; there are 
no blue eyes like thine, my dear ; there is 
no voice so sweet as thine ; there are no 
such soft brown curls, no cheeks so red 
and white, no lips so rosy. Oh, my dear ! if 
I was in love with thee at Christmas, I am ten 
times more in love at Midsummer.' 

Again I felt the pang, but now with tenfold 
agony, of the Bishop's injunction — ah ! why 
is virtue always so harsh ? Again was I 
tempted, so that if he had, in a way, forced 
me — if he had only taken me in his arms 



156 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

and sworn never to let me go till I promised 
to be of his religion, I must most certainly 
liave yielded. He did not — sinner that 
I am, I have never ceased to be sorry 
that he did not — therefore religion triumphed, 
and I remain a Protestant to this hour. 
Yet at that moment I would have thrown 
all away — yes, all — obedience to my Bishop, 
to my aunt, the faith in which I had been 
educated, all to go away with this man and 
cleave unto him. Never again, never again 
can I be so tempted ; never again could there 
happen to me temptation like unto this. 
Kind Heaven will not suffer it more than 
once in a lifetime, 

* Oh ! rise, my lord,' I cried at last. ' At 
least let us talk together reasonably. I 
am not a goddess ; I am a poor weak woman, 
ignorant and rustic ; I am not worthy of 
your regard. Leave me to my own people.' 

He obeyed and rose, but his eyes were 
wild and his cheek flushed. He walked to 
and fro for a space, swinging his arms, until 
he grew composed. Then he came back 
to me and tried to talk soberly. 

He spoke, as he always did, with the 



MY DECISION, 157 

greatest modesty about himself. He was fully 
aware, lie said, that an education in France, 
although it had not made him a Frenchman, 
very much separated him from his country- 
men ; so that on his return he found the 
customs strange to him, and the language, 
though he spoke English from the cradle, 
difficult. 

' Moreover,' he said, ' I know that my 
manners are not yours. I have not the frank 
cordiality of your brother, or the boisterous 
jollity of his friends ; I cannot drink with 
them ; I am not accustomed to their noisy 
fox-hunting, otter-hunting, badger-baiting ; 
it is strange to me when a gentleman 
takes a quarterstaff and for half an hour be- 
labours, and is belaboured by, a rustic ; in 
my very dress I lack the simplicity which 
distinguishes them.' (Here I could not 
choose but smile, because it was a kind of 
natui'e in the Earl to dress finely ; and if 
fine clothes are not made for such as Lord 
Derwent water, for whom should they be 
made ?) ~ ' Again, I know not rightly how to 
treat my people. In France they are not 
considered ; they make the roads, plough the 



158 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

land, find the soldiers, pay the taxes, but 
they are not regarded. A French noble is 
like a creature of another race, to whom the 
lower race is born subject. I hear of the 
English freedom and independence; yet when 
I come home I am received with ten times 
the welcome and respect which the French 
canaille use tow^ards their betters. Here they 
do not hate the noblesse; on the contrar}^, 
they love them. Why, in France a noble 
thinks little of kicking, beating, and cuffing 
any man of the lower orders, even if he be a 
scholar or a poet. Here, gentle or simple, if 
you strike a man he wall return the blow, with 
the law at his back and no Bastille to fear. 
So great a thing is liberty ! And so hard it 
is for a gentleman to know how rightly to 
treat his people ! Their friend I would fain 
be ; their equal I cannot be ; their oppressor 
I might be, yet would rather die. How to 
deserve their love and to retain their respect ? 
Dorothy, let it be your task to teach me !' 

* Alas ! my lord, there are many better 
teachers than myself.' 

' Nay. I have been v/alking in the village 
with Mr. Hilyard, and speaking with the 



MV DECISION. 159 

people. Everywhere it is the same story — 
the goodness of Miss Dorothy: how kind she 
is to the poor; of what an open hand and 
tender heart ! There are more poor on the 
Eadcliffe estates than at Bamborough ; come 
to them and be their guardian angel.' 

I replied, but with trembling voice, that 
an angel I could never be ; and as for going 
to Dilston, that was impossible, and I must, 
alas ! still remain at the Manor House. 

^ There is so great a difference,' he went 
on, * between the people of France and of 
England. Here they dance not on a Sunday, 
nor is there any playing of the pipe ; they 
do not laugh and sing greatly, yet they are 
better fed and better dressed, and are truly 
more happy ; they seem sad at first, but they 
are not sad ; sometimes they seem surly, yet 
they may be trusted. Teach me, Dorothy, 
better to know this brave folk of Northumber- 
land.^ 

* Oh, my lord,' I replied, * you are learning 
every day ; you will understand them soon, 
far better than I could teach you.' 

For a reason which you will presently 
hear, he did not learn to understand them, 



i6o DOROTHY FORSTER. 

and with all his virtues never became quite a 
Northumbrian. 

' And I am separated from the rest, though 
there are many Catholics in this country, by 
our religion. This one does not understand 
in a Catholic country, where the hatred of 
the faith by Protestants is not comprehended. 
Men such as myself, who would fain know 
the true temper of the people, are open to 
great danger of deceit. Already I perceive 
that many things currently reported at St. 
Germain's were false. In the business of 
his Highness, we are dependent on our mes- 
sengers, who may have their own purposes 
to serve, and may see with eyes of exaggera- 
tion.' He stopped and sighed. ' For all 
these reasons, Dorothy, take pity on me.' 

^ My lord, if pity be of any use, from my 
very heart would I give you that pity/ 

' If you give it, show it, Dorothy ; give 
me, as well, your hand.' 

I made no answer. It was too much for 
me to bear, that he, so noble and so good, 
should sue thus humbly for so small a 
thing. 

* Let me see with those sweet English 



( MY DECISION. 16 1 

eyes/ he said. ' Let me be tauglit by that 
voice, which is all the music I care to 
hear/ 

' Oh, my lord, it cannot be ! Nay, do 
not force a poor girl against her conscience. 
First, I am a simple gentlewoman, and know 
not the manners of the Court. What would 
her ladyship, your mother, say of such a 
match ?' 

' It needs not,' he answered, ' to consider 
my mother's objections, if she have any. 
She is now with her third husband, and has 
no longer any right to be consulted. That 
is not your reason, Dorothy/ 

Like all women, I played round the point 
as if I would escape it. 

* Next, my lord, you want one who in 
manner and appearance would adorn the high 
place to which you raise your Countess.' 

Here, indeed, he vehemently protested that 
there never had been, and never would be, 
one more beautiful, more gracious, more 
worthy of the highest rank than the fair 
Dorothy. ~ 

* And yet,' he said, ' these are not your 
reasons. Why, for youf* sake would I give 

VOL. II. 30 



i62 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

up rank and dignities, with all my posses- 
sions — happy with yon if I had to go to 
the plantations of Yirginia, or the say age 
wilds of New England.' 

' No, my lord ; those are not my reasons. 
Alas ! I haye but one reason. Father Howard 
instructed me six months ago what that 
reason would be.' 

" Dorothy, haye you not listened to his 
arguments *?' 

' Indeed, my lord, I haye read them all, 
and with a heart willing to be conyinced, 
Heayen knows ! Why, what should I haye 
to reply when a scholar tells me this and 
that ? How can a poor woman do more 
than obey authority and trust in the Lord ? 
Yet just as your own honour keeps you to 
the faith in which you were trained, so does 
mine forbid me to leaye my own saye by 
permission and authority of those who are 
my natural pastors and masters. For if I 
did, I beheye I should haye no more, as loner 
as I Hye, any rest or comfort in my con- 
science.' 

He made no reply at first to this. 

' It is your honour, my lord, as you haye 



AfV DECISION. 163 

yourself told me. Would it be to my honour 
if I, being too ignorant to decide on these 
grave questions, were to abandon the faith 
of my people, presumptuously give them the 
lie, and assure so great a scholar as the 
Lord Bishop of Durham that he is wrong ? 
Can I do this thing, my lord, even for your 
sake r 

* Is this, then,' he asked sadly, * the only 
thing which stands between us ? Good God ! 
that we should part because priests cannot 
agree !' 

' Yes,' I said ; ' there is nothing else, be- 
lieve me. Can your lordship think that I 
am insensible to the offer of so much noble- 
ness — so far greater than any merit of mine ? 
But yet it is an obstacle which cannot be 
overcome.' 

'Nay; but for my sake, Dorothy, listen 
to Mr. Howard. He will place before you. 
so plainly that there shall be no manner of 
doubt possible, reasons which shall compel 
you, without thinking of me at all, to come 
into the true Church. I would have no pre- 
tended convert. I do not ask you to listen 
to any arguments of mine ; for, indeed, I am 

30—2 



164 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

not a Doctor of Divinity — I know not how to 
defend the Church. There are others who 
pray daily at the altar for thy conversion. 
When I came from Dilston, my aunt, whose 
heart you have won — I mean the Lady 
Mary — whispered to me, "Bring her hack 
with you ; Mr. Howard is ready to resolve 
her doubts, and I will pray for her." ' 

I shook my head. There was more than 
a Mass between us. If it had been only 
a Mass, Mr. Howard might easily have re- 
moved all scruples with ease, because Love 
would have gone before to clear the way. 
There was, besides, the tall and venerable 
form of the Lord Bishop. He seemed at this 
moment to stand before me, upright as a dart, 
warning me with a frown, which made me 
tremble, not to sell my conscience for a wed- 
dmg-ring. 

* Shall we say,' Lord Derwentwater went 
on, * that your learning and reason are more 
than a match for Mr. Howard and all the 
Church ? If it be so, then come and con- 
vert him and all of us. Only come and listen 
to him.' 

* Oh, I must not !' I rephed. ' My lord, I 



MV DECISION. 165 

have my own people to consider, as well as 
my own conscience. I doubt not — I am a 
very weak woman — that the reasons of Mr. 
Howard, and the prayers of Lady Mary, and 
my own inclination would speedily effect the 
conversion which you desire. Yet I am 
strictly admonished by the Bishop, Lord 
Crewe, that I already belong to a Church 
with authority, and that it is the Church of 
my father and mother.' 

* Dorothy, it is for love ! By Heaven, if 
you love me as I love you, no priest, be he 
bishop or not, shall stand between us ! Keep 
your own religion then, my dear; worship 
how you please. It must surely be a true 
religion which such an angel would profess. 
Go to your own Church — have your own 
priest ; I will never interfere. Only suffer 
me to have mine.' 

Then, indeed, was I for a moment over- 
whelmed, and felt as if, after all my doubts, 
heaven itself were opening to me. Each to 
keep his own religion ! Why, what could be 
a happier settlement ? And love to remain ! 
Ah, happy ending ! 

Yet I know now full well that, had I yielded, 



i66 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

there would have been worse trouble before 
me, and the misery of being torn from my 
lover's arms when I thought myself folded 
securely there for ever. No one, on either 
side, would have allowed the marriage ; 
either I must be received into the Catholic 
religion, which the Bishop and Lady Crewe, 
to say nothing of my father and Tom, would 
never permit, or Lord Derwentwater must 
come over to the Protestants — a thing which 
his people would, with all their powers, 
oppose. 

I was saved by timely, nay, providential, 
reason. I thought of the dismal condition of 
parents who agree not in religion, and would 
each fain bring up the children in different 
ways, whi::h must be intolerable to a mother; 
and of the dreadful thing to live with a man 
whom you fondly love, but concerning whose 
soul and ultimate fate you tremble continually ; 
and to see your innocent children torn from 
the true Fold, and brought up in the way of 
superstition and error. All this I thought 
upon quickly, and without time to give it 
words ; and then I strengthened my courage 
(though heart beat and lips were dry, and 



MY DECISION, 167 

hands trembled and knees were sinking), and 
begged my lord, humbly, to go away and 
leave me, because I could bear the vehemence 
of his pleadings no longer. But, I added, I 
should never — no, not if my days were pro- 
longed far beyond the earthly span — never 
forget the honour he had done me, and would 
pray for him night and morning, that he 
might obtain a wife worthy of him, and 
children brave and strong, with a long and 
happy life, and all the best and most pre- 
cious gifts — yea, and more — that the Lord 
hath ever vouchsafed to man. Then, being 
an honourable gentleman, although so torn 
and distracted by his passion, he desisted, 
doing and saying no more than to stoop and 
kiss me upon my forehead, with a — 

* Farewell, sweet Dorothy ! Now must I 
go — whither, and what to do, I know not, 
and care no longer.' 

So I was left alone, and, sitting down, 
could weep and cry to my heart's content. 

How long I sat there I know not ; but 
presently I heard a step in the garden, and 
Mr. Hilyard returned. 

'I met my lord,' he said. * Distraction 



i68 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

was in his look : lie hath mounted his horse 
and ridden away. Oh ! Miss Dorothy, my 
poor mistress, forgive me ! it is my fault — 
my doing — all/ 

He threw himself upon his knees. 

' Drive me away,' he said ; * I deserve 
nothing less. For it was none but I who 
wrote to Lady Crewe and told her of my 
lord's passion and. your doubt. Had it not 
been for that letter, the Bishop would have 
known nothing, and long before he could 
interfere you might have been received in 
Dilston Chapel. You have been my friend 
and benefactress, and this is my gratitude. 
Let me call him back. Why, w^e need not go 
to Mr. Howard ; I know all his arguments. 
In half an hour I will convert you myself. 
In a quarter of an hour I will convince you. 
I will even ask to be received with you, so as 
to remain in your service. Be it on my head ! 
It is the least that I can do.' 

I bade him be silent, and leave me alone. 
Yet he was so repentant, and so strangely 
moved, that I gave him my hand in token of 
forgiveness, and told him that there was 
nothing to forgive. 



MV DECISION. 169 

Sometimes, since, I have blamed him for 
medclHng. But, had he not informed Lady 
Crewe, the thing must have been told her by 
another, and, sooner or later, the whole busi- 
ness must be opened before her. Besides, he 
was but doing his duty to his mistress. Yet 
I have often wondered why, when my lord 
had me, so to speak, in a melting mood — 
when my heart was torn to pieces with pity 
and with love — he did not carry me away 
straight to the altar, when I might have been 
converted, received, baptized, confessed, and 
even married all in an hour, and before there 
was time to remember the Bishop at all. 



CHAPTER XX. 

HER ladyship's LETTER. 

Nothing of all this was told by me to Tom 
or to my father, though afterwards they 
learned it from Lady Crewe. I saw my lord 
once more before he went away, but not alone. 
Nevertheless he whispered, ^ Dorothy ! you 
have chosen rightly ; all that you do is well 
done. Farewell !' And so he went away, 
and I lost the noblest lover that ever wooed 
a maid. Shortly after I received from Lady 
Crewe a letter^ which I copy out for the con- 
solation of other girls who may be parted 
from their lovers for conscience or religion's 
sake. The letter was not brought by the 
postboy, but one of the Bishop's running 
footmen, who also carried with him a great 
parcel of fine things sent to me by her lady- 
ship, kindly hoping thus to cheer my spirits 



HER LADYSHIP S LETTER. 171 

by the contemplation of black and silver 
fringe, Geneva velvet, Brussels lace, Italian 
silk, soft Indian stuffs, wliite sarsnet, blue and 
gold atlas, flowered damask, and so forth. It 
is certainly a great solace to a woman in all 
the misfortunes of life to have such things to 
look at, and I dare say many a sad heart may 
have been comforted by such a present as was 
thus made to me. 

' My dear and loving Niece,' her ladyship 
wrote, — ' I hear from a sure hand that the 
admonition and advice of the Bishop in this 
grave affair between Lord Derwentwater and 
yourself have been duly considered by you, 
and have borne fruit in your decision, which 
I pity and am sorry for, while I cannot but 
approve. It is a grievous thing, indeed, for 
a woman to send away any gallant gentleman 
who offers his hand and his affections (yet 
have I sent away many) ; much more grievous 
is it when that gentleman is such an one as 
my Lord of Derwentwater, a man born, I am 
persuaded, to be loved by all, a young gentle- 
man of excellent parts and great sweetness, 
not to speak of his exalted rank and his 



172 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

nearness to the throne. Among the many 
offers which I received and refused, there was 
not one so important as this. Indeed, my 
dear, the conquest of this admirable young 
gentleman, though it surprises me not, since 
the beauty of the women in our family hath 
ever been coupled with that most excellent 
gift, the power of attraction, yet it should 
greatly raise you in the estimation of all. 
There is not (believe me) a young woman in 
all England who would not long to have so 
brave a lover at her feet, and it will be all 
your life a subject of gratitude and thankful- 
ness that this has happened to you. But if I 
admire your fortune, child, in this affair, I 
admire your behaviour more in letting him go. 
Grievous it is, without doubt, and my heart 
bleeds for your sorrow. Yet, my dear, on the 
other hand, consider, I pray, how much more 
grievous would it be to have taken him. For, 
just as he can never change the religion in 
which he was brought up, which is that of his 
father, of his mother, of his grandfather King 
Charles, and of his cousin the Prince ; so 
you, for your part, can never change your 
own, which is that of all the living Forsters, 



HER LADYSHIP S LETTER. 173 

whether of Etherston or of Bamborough, and 
that of your illustrious uncle, the Bishop of 
this diocese. Picture to yourself a distracted 
household in which the father is a Papist and 
the mother a Protestant ; the children in- 
clining now this way, now that, as they are 
swayed by their father's or their mother's 
influence ; imagine the unfortunate parents, 
fearful each for the future lot of the other, 
and trembling continually fOr fear whether 
Heaven can be assured for those who hold to 
this or to that belief. My dear, thou hast 
saved thyself from such a fate in the decision 
which you have taken. Wherefore, learn to 
look upon the Earl as a friend who cannot 
possibly become a husband any more than if 
he were thy brother, and let thy heart be free 
to listen to the persuasions of other and more 
fortunate men. Meantime, forget not to take 
comfort in the thought that thou hast obeyed 
the admonition of thy Bishop — a thing much 
more pleasing to Almighty God than the mere 
following of the inclinations and temptations 
of the heart. This, in after years and upon 
thy death-bed, will afford thee such satisfac- 
tion and comfort as the memory of a short 



174 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

period of passion could never secure. Where- 
fore, my dear niece, I leave thee to thy 
resignation as a Christian^ to thy obedience 
as a daughter of the Church of England, to 
thy pride as a Forster, to bring thee quickly 
to a cheerful and contented mind. Of this 
matter, for the present, enough. 

* My lord, I am thankful therefor, continues 
in such health and strength as is surprising in 
a man of his years. To him belongs the bless- 
ing of long continuance in the land. "We 
hear good news concerning the temper of the 
country, which promises to assume a settled 
resolution of loyalty. I know very well on 
which side my niece will be found. Best 
assured, therefore, that thou hast in me 
always the same affection and desire for thy 
welfare. 

* Thy loving Aunt, 

' Dorothy Crewe.' 

In this way, therefore, did my love-story 
end. Because my lover was so gallant and 
comely a man, all other men have since 
appeared small compared with him. Nor 
have I ever been able to endure the thought 



HER LADYSHIP S LETTER, 175 

of a second lover ; thougli many have offered 
themselves, including that faithful pair who 
would never take nay for an answer, Peregrine 
Widdrington and Ned Swinburne. Thus 
it is that, though an unmarried woman, 
I have learned to distinguish and to under- 
stand very clearly the symptoms of love, 
which are various, and differ with every 
man, one becoming melancholy and another 
joyful, one hanging his head and another 
dancing, one afraid and another confident ; 
but always the same hungry look in every 
eye — the same look as I had seen in my 
lord's eyes^ though in him much more noble 
and dignified. But never again, towards any 
other man, did I feel the same glow in 
my own heart, the same yearning — almost 
too strong to be endured — to see that look 
again. Therefore, I think that, though a 
woman may perhaps make a good wife even 
to a man who has never touched her heart, 
we are all so constituted by nature that 
we can love but one man. This is that high 
and sacred mystery of wedded life, ordained 
by Heaven for the mutual support and 
comfort of man and woman. I have missed 



176 DOROTHY F0RS7ER. 

that chief blessing, it is true ; but I have 
not missed the gift of a man's love. 

It would be foolish to relate how dull 
were the days and how tedious the duties 
of the house after my lord left me. A girl 
crossed in love is ever a sorrowful creature ; 
all such do I pity from my heart, remember- 
ing the pain and anguish which at that time 
I endured. In such a juncture and at the 
outset there is no comfort in anything — 
not even in lace and silks ; nor any joy in 
the day, nor any rest at night. For the 
morning brings the thought that there will 
be no happiness in the day, and the sun 
uprising only renews the pain of yesterday ; 
in the night, the face of him who is lost 
comes back in dreams, and hangs about 
the pillow like the face of a ghost. I saw 
that ghost by night and had those memories 
by day. When Mr. Hilyard read to me, 
I heard not; when he played sad music 
to me, I sat in my chair and listened not ; 
when he talked to me, I heeded not. Yet 
he never wearied in reading, talking, and 
playing to me, and was a most patient, 
thoughtful creature. At such time the 



HER LADYSHIPS LETTER. 177 

things which happen pass before our eyes 
as in a dream, and we see them not, and 
think nothing strange. Why, I remember 
now that Jenny Lee came to me one day, and 
after saying that she could not bear to see 
her mistress thus go still in sorrow, telling 
me she knew how to get from her grandmother 
a love-potion, which, if I pleased, she would 
send by a sure and secret hand to Dilston 
Hall, to bring back my lord, so that, nilly- 
willy, he should not choose but come. 
Instead of rebuking the girl, and soundly 
boxing her ears, I only shook my head 
and said nothing. Yet this is passing strange 
— that a servant-maid should offer to practise 
sorcery, and her mistress should not reprove 
her. 

Let all this pass : time brings patience 
and understanding. What had been done 
was for conscience and fair Eeligion's sake. 
Afterwards, but not for a year or two. Lady 
Crewe told my brother Tom what had 
happened, and it was counted as an honour 
to us all that my lord had proposed and I had 
refused. 

At this time my father, being now some- 

VOL. II. 31 



178 DOROTHY FORSJER. 

what advanced in years — namely, between 
fifty and sixty — was aweary of the long 
journey to London and back, and therefore 
resolved to retire from the House of Commons. 
I know not what passed between Lady Crewe 
and Tom on the subject of living in London, 
but I suppose that she agreed to bear his 
charges, so that he should make an appear- 
ance in the great town worthy of his position 
in the county and his place as a Knight 
of the Shire. Certain it is that he was 
elected, being the seventh Forster in un- 
broken line who thus represented his county 
in Parliament. 

When Tom was away, which was now 
for a great while in the year, I led for 
the most part a retired life at the Manor 
House, Mr. Hilyard managing all her affairs 
for Lady Crewe, though I confess that so 
great a scholar would have been better 
occupied in a library. We continued to read 
together^ and in the winter evenings we 
had music, chiefly of a grave and serious kind, 
which elevates the soul and leads it heaven- 
ward. It seemed as if he was contented, 
when there was no feasting or fooling, to 



HER ladyship's LETTER, 179 

lead this quiet life. Often, also, my father 
would sit with us, especially in the summer 
evenings, and take a pipe of Virginia with 
a mug of ale. But as for play-acting, sing- 
ing choruses, and the like, there was none of 
it. Nor was there much whisper of what 
was doing in the world, save for a news-letter 
which sometimes reached us. Nothing more 
astonished me when I went to London than 
the multiplication of news and the swiftness 
with which the latest intelligence is received 
and scattered abroad. Again, Mr. Hilyard 
had often told me that we lived in an 
age remarkable, even like that of Augustus, 
for wit, poetry, genius, and learning. Yet 
of all these wits — of Addison and Steele 
and the rest — I should have known nothing, 
except at second hand, had not Mr. Hilyard, 
by great good fortune, lighted on a complete 
set of the papers called the Spectator and 
the Tatler, It was in the year 1713, and 
at Alnwick, whither few books find their 
way. Certainly, I may truly say that I 
have never received greater pleasure than 
from the reading of these delightful works. 
Too often the wits of the age lend their powers 

31—2 



i8o DOROTHY FORSTER. 

to bringing virtue in contempt, so that a 
gentlewoman cannot so much as look upon 
their poems ; and if she ventures to the theatre, 
must, for shame' sake, put on a mask. There 
is comfort in the thought that such writers 
receive their reward in the oblivion into which 
they speedily fall. Neglect, says Mr. Hil- 
yard, is the certain fate of those who impiously 
seek to make virtue ridiculous. 

Each year, when Tom came home, the 
house was filled again. Once more the cellar 
was opened ; there was feasting, and, in the 
evening, singing and drinking, with Mr. 
Hilyard to keep the company merry. Plea- 
sant it was to see Tom, happy, as of oldj with 
every kind of sport, never tired of the things 
which always amused him, calling for the old 
songs and the old stories. But there appeared 
latterly many strange faces, at sight of whom 
Mr. Hilyard looked glum. They were non- 
jurors, malcontents, and restless men, who 
were not satisfied, as most of us in the north, 
to wait, but must needs be for ever pushing 
and plotting. 

As for Tom's way of living in London, it 
was this — apart from his Parliament duties. 



HER LADYSHIPS LETTER. i8i 

After a mug or two of small-beer in the 
morning, he commonly took his dinner at 
Lovett's, by Charing Cross, a place much 
frequented by Members of Parliament and 
country gentlemen. Dinner despatched, he 
would presently walk to White's Coffee House, 
in St. James's Street, where no Whig dare so 
much as show his face. Here would he take 
a dish of coffee or chocolate, with a pipe of 
tobacco, and, perhaps, if the weather were 
raw, a dram of ratafia or Nantz. In the 
evening he went to the October Club. He 
was never seen in the Park, or the theatre, 
or any of the places where ladies resort ; and 
while, on the one hand, he escaped the 
destruction which the ladies of London some- 
times bring upon country gentlemen, on the 
other, there was no question as to marrying 
an heiress. An easy man, everybody's friend, 
and to all the world Tom Forster. 

When I asked Mr. Hilyard where the 
October Club met, he said that he did not 
know, but certainly as far as possible from 
Will's. I know that Will's is the resort of 
wits and poets, and it was easy to understand 
that Mr. Hilyard meant to imply that Tom's 



1 82 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

friends were not remarkable for learning and 
ingenuity. I dare say this may be so, if 
only for the reason that most of the Tories are 
gentlemen by birth ; now there is no reason 
at all why one already illustrious by his 
descent should seek glory in the contest of 
wit, in which he may be outdone by some 
smart Templar, or even the son of a London 
vintner, like Mr. Hilyard. On the other hand, 
there are many great wits and scholars on our 
side, and I hope that Bishop Atterbury, or 
Lord Bolingbroke, may be acknowledged at 
least the equal of Addison or Steele. But 
perhaps, after all, Mr. Hilyard only desired 
to say a smart thing. There is practised 
among scholars the art of describing men and 
things in sharp sentences, mostly ill-natured. 
They call this art wit or satire, but it is, to 
my thinking, mostly ill-nature or spitefulness. 

' If I were in London, which I fear ' — here 
Mr. Hilyard sighed heavily — ' I shall never 
see again, I would go to the coffee-houses of 
both sides, and then ' 

* What then.?' 

^ I should learn all that can be said against 
either side. Believe me, Miss Dorothy, there 



HER ladyship's LETTER, 1S3 

would be no greater safeguard for your Tory 
gentleman than to hear the "Whig argument.' 

• Nay,' I said, * a Forster must be loyal.' 

* Let him be as loyal as you will. But if 
there is to be fighting let others begin. Her 
ladyship is much concerned at the continual 
presence of these nonjurors.' 

In the early spring of the year 1712, my 
maid Jenny Lee ran away from me. I am 
not able to charge myself with the least 
harshness towards the girl, whom I treated 
with kindness from the beginning, although I 
could not forget the strange things I had 
myself seen, or else thought I had seen, when 
at Dilston Hall. But she was quiet and well 
behaved, and gave me no trouble at all except 
on that account ; and always dutiful, affec- 
tionate, and respectful, clever with her fingers, 
and knowing how to restrain her tongue. I 
had already designed her in my own mind to 
marry, when my brother should have no more 
need of his services, his own man, Thomas 
Lee (not of the gipsy Lees), a handy and 
honest fellow, not more given to drink than 
most, and never drunk until his master was 
first seen safe to bed. But the end was 



1 84 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

otherwise, for one day, hearing that the 
strolHng players were at Wooler, only ten 
miles away, she could not be restrained, but 
packed up all she had — in truth, a sorry 
bundle — threw it over her shoulder, and 
marched off, leaving a saucy message to Mr. 
Hilyard, that he only was to blame, because 
he it was who first showed her how to act ; 
and a crying message to me that indeed I had 
been a kind mistress to her, and that she 
begged my forgiveness, but she must needs 
become a player, and no other way of life was 
tolerable to her. 

In the autumn of the same year, that is, in 
the year 1712, we heard of Lord Derwent- 
water's marriage. He was married on July 
the 10th, to Anna, daughter of Sir John 
Webb, Baronet, of Canford, in Dorsetshire. 
His wife's family were Catholics, so that, 
happily, there was no question of religion 
between them. She had been educated in a 
convent at Paris, and I believe that my lord 
made her acquaintance before he returned to 
England. By her mother's side she was also 
of good blood, being granddaughter of Lord 
"Worlaby, and ^'eat - granddaughter to the 



HER LADYSHIP S LETTER. 185 

Marquis of Winchester. He wrote two or 
three clays after his marriage to his cousin, 
Lady Swinburne, of Capheaton, from a place 
called Hallenhope, in Gloucestershire, where 
he lived for two years with his wife, and where 
his son was born. His letter, which Lady 
Swinburne showed me, was full of joy, for 
which I thanked God, praying that his earthly 
happiness might be continued to him for a 
long life. We also learned that my lord had 
further agreed to spend two years in the 
south of England, among his wife's relations. 
I know not for what reason this article was 
asked for, or insisted upon, but I think with 
the design of protecting the young Earl from 
the designs and conspiracies of the more 
violent among his party. If that were the 
case, then I would to Heaven that they had 
made the agreement for three years and a 
half, at least, when all the trouble might have 
been averted. I am very certain that there 
would have been no disturbance in Northum- 
berland, whatever they might do in Scotland, 
but for the certainty that the great families in 
the county, and especially the Eadchfifes, 
would be drawn in. 



i86 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

I have never charged my lord, either 
secretly or openly, with inconstancy, 3^et I 
confess that, at the first moment, when I 
heard of his marriage, I felt a pang, which I 
believe was natural, though it hath since been 
repented. Such a charge would be most un- 
reasonable, on every ground — that of his 
rank, because a man in his exalted rank must 
marry for the sake of heirs ; and because, if 
one woman says nay, there are plenty as good 
as she in the world — ay, and a good deal 
better. Then, again, a man may love many 
w^omen in his life, I suppose, though that we 
cannot understand. Lastly, his choice was 
wise, and his wife beautiful, virtuous, and in 
every way worthy of her rank, and of her 
husband. 

I have told all that concerns the early life 
of my brother until the time when he became 
Knight of the Shire. You have seen how he 
was trained, and how fitted for the part he 
was fated to play ; that is, he was fonder of 
the country than of town ; he never un- 
learned his country speech and manner; he 
was loved by all ; he was of easy temper ; he 
was but little conversant with books or men ; 



HER LADYSHIPS LETTER, 187 

he was readily persuaded ; he was honour- 
able and loyal, true to his word, and to his 
friends. 

In the sequel, it may seem to some that I 
presume to treat of matters beyond a woman's 
reach. Though I may be excused if I touch 
sometimes on these things, I would not, cer- 
tainly, seem desirous of writing history. The 
Kising in the North will, I hope, be fitly 
treated by Mr. Hilyard, who promises to 
make such a book concerning it as Sallust 
made concerning the Conspiracy of Catiline 
(though not comparing its leaders with that 
bloodthirsty parricide). In this way he will 
do justice to the actors, and confer immor- 
tality upon himself. Sad it would be if so 
much learning were to be rewarded by no 
other monument than a tomb in Durham 
Cathedral. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

MR. HILYARD's dream. 

It was late in tlie summer of 1714 that Lord 
Derwentwater brought the Countess home. 
Such was his eagerness to return, and hers 
to make acquaintance with her husband's 
cousins, that is to say, with all the gentry of 
the county, that he started for the north on 
the very day that his two years expired, 
namely, on the 10th of July; and, though he 
travelled with a great company of servants, 
baggage, and pack-horses, and stopped on 
the way to see York races, he arrived at 
Dilston Hall in the first week of August, 
to the joy and content of his friends and 
tenants. 

As for his brothers, Frank and Charles, they 
were both in London, but not, I understood, 
living together, and Charles spending at a 



MR. HILYARD's dream. 



great rate, that is to say, above his income ; 
his uncle. Colonel Thomas Kadcliffe, was at 
Douay, where I hope the poor man forgot his 
imaginary pursuer ; the Lady Mary was gone 
to Durham, where she had a house ; and 
Lady Katharine to live in a convent at St. 
Germain's — honoured no more by the Court 
of the Prince, who was at Bar-le-Duc. Some 
of the Swinburnes were there to meet the 
Countess, and Mr. Errington, of Beaufront. 
Mr. Hilyard also, who was at Blanchland on 
Lady Crewe's business, went to Dilston to 
pay his respects. Tom was still in London, 
and I was at Bamborough, thirty miles 
away. 

When, however, Mr. Hilyard returned, he 
informed me of every particular, even of her 
ladyship's dress, of which, for a man, he was 
observant, and made me understand that 
the Countess had taste, and dressed in the 
mode. 

* As for my lord,' said Mr. Hilyard, * he 
looks certainly older, and is fuller in the 
cheeks than three years ago ; but his carriage 
is the same. Sure there is no other noble- 
man in the world like unto him. He was so 



190 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

good as to inquire of my welfare, after 
asking after your own health and his 
honour's.' 

' And the Countess T I asked. 

* She is little of stature, but vivacious in 
speech ; her age is twenty ; her eyes are dark 
and bright, and she laughs readily. She has 
the manners of the town, and will prove, I 
doubt not, remarkable for her ready sallies ; 
and for a lively temper rather than for the 
dignity which is so conspicuous in some great 
ladies — in Lady Crewe, for example. Her 
own people all declare that she is kind- 
hearted and generous, though quick of 
speech/ 

* Did my lord seem happy ?' I asked. 

* There was no outward sign of anything 
but of happiness,' he told me. ' They are 
reported to be lovers still, though they have 
been married two years and more. All 
testify that never was a couple more truly 
fitted for each other, and yet ' 

He stopped short, but I knew very well 
what was in his mind. 

'And yet, three years ago,' I said, 'he 
was content to look for happiness with 



MR. HILYARDS DREAM, 191 

another woman. Young men sometimes mis- 
take their hearts. Let us be thankful that, 
this time, my lord hath made no mistake. 
Those who remain lovers after two years are 
certainly married as Heaven intended, and will 
continue lovers to the end.' 

And yet, for my own part, I had never 
forgotten his image, which was graven on 
my heart. But he had forgotten ; he could 
show every outward sign of happiness. This, 
I say, being a feeble woman, I could not 
choose but feel. Afterwards I learned that a 
man may be happy, and yet not forget tender 
passages of old. We women are for ever 
saying, * A man does this, and a man does 
that,' making comparisons of ourselves with 
the other sex, only to find out our own weak- 
ness and their strength. ' A wise man,' 
quoth King Solomon, * is strong.' He doth 
not say that a strong man is wise. Yet 
methinks a man, because he is strong, may 
attain unto and reach that Wisdom, which is 
to the soul (also in the words of Solomon) 
like honey and the honeycomb, more easily 
than a woman. 

* I hear also,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' that the 



192 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Countess is red-hot for the Prince ; and am 
sorry to hear it/ 

' Why,' I replied, ' surely you would not 
have her on the other side T 

' Nay ; I would have her on the side of 
safety. Loyalty, faith, and kinship call the 
Earl into a certain path which is heset with 
danger. Let Prudence walk beside him, if 
only to hold him back.' 

Of late Mr. Hilyard often spoke thus, 
showing, though I knew it not, a spirit 
prophetic. Thus can learning make men 
foretell the storm, and see clouds to come 
even in a sky without a cloud. In affairs of 
State who would have looked for foresight 
from a simple Oxford scholar of lowly birth ? 
Yet the storm was at hand. The first sign 
of it came the very next day, namely, the 
7th of August, in the year of grace 1714; 
Mr. Hilyard being in the forenoon on the 
high-road from which Bamborough lietli 
distant a mile and a half, or thereabouts, 
presently saw, making what speed he could 
along the way (which here is rough and full 
of furrows, so that to gallop is not easy), a 
messenger on horseback, who blew a horn as 



MR. HILYARDS DREAM, 193 

he went, and cried out with a loud voice unto 
any he met or passed, or saw working in the 
fields or in the cottage gardens, or at open 
door, or in farmyards by the wayside, say- 
ing : 

' The Queen is dead, good people. Queen 
Anne is dead !' 

With this news in his mouth Mr. Hilyard 
hastened to tell me. 

' Queen Anne is dead !' he said, for the 
fiftieth time. ' What will they do ? Nay, 
what have they already done ? It is a week 
and more that the Queen is dead. Have they 
proclaimed the Prince ? Is he already sent 
for ? Did the Queen acknowledge him for 
her successor ? Oh that we could hear 
more ! If we knew what they have already 
done ! Why, anything may happen now — a 
peaceful succession, a civil war, a rebellion — 
what do we know ? And here sit I with 
folded arms, and can do nothing.' 

' You could do nothing,' I said, ' if you 
were in London, except shout in the streets 
and get knocked on the head.' 

It is a strange delusion of every man that 
the course of events lieth in his own hand, 

VOL. II, 32 



194 DOROTHY FORSIER. 

and that if he alone were in the right place to 
order and direct, all would go well. 

' Nay,' he replied, ' to shout in the street 
would be something. Besides, where pam- 
phlets and verses and lampoons are flying, 
there could I be of use. At such times, a poet 
makes others shout.' 

Then we began again to guess and to 
wonder what was going to happen. If the 
Prince had been acknowledged by his sister 
for her successor, he would probably have 
been proclaimed on the day of her death. 
How did London take it ? If that were so, 
it would fare ill with the great Whig lords, 
like the Duke of Argyll and others, supporters 
of King "William, Queen Anne, and the 
Protestant Succession. But as for families 
like ourselves, who had remained staunch sup- 
porters of the rightful heir, there would be a 
time of fatness. 

^ His honour,' said Mr. Hilyard, ' cannot 
expect anything short of an earldom. That 
is the least that can be given to him.' 

' But,' I asked, ' how if the Prince sur- 
rounds himself with priests ?' 

* Why,* said Mr. Hilyard, ' that would not 



MR, HILYARD's dream. 195 

be endiired by the City, and a remedy must 

be found. Else ' he looked so resolute 

that I trembled for his Highness. 

' And what will the Nonconformists say ?' 

' As for them/ he replied, * they must sit 
down and be content. Loyal they will never 
be. If they are not content, let them follow 
their grandfathers to America.' 

And so on. "We made no manner of doubt, 
after much talking, that the Prince was 
already proclaimed, and Tom ruffling with the 
best on the victorious side. 

' Heavens !' cried Mr. Hilyard, ' what a 
sight must it be ! The theatres resounding 
with loyal songs ; the houses illuminated ; all 
the brave soldiers drunk; every sour and 
surly Whig made to put a candle in his 
windows or have them broken ; fighting at 
every corner ; bonfires in every street ; oxen 
roasted whole ; conduits running with wine ; 
the -City Companies holding high banquet; 
the universal feasting, singing, and drinking ! 
Not a glum face outside the conventicle. 
Heigho ! What would I not give to be there 
among them all !' 

He then went on to construct the future 

32—2 



196 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

history of Great Britain and Ireland, in which 
he allowed the Prince to remain a Catholic, 
but exacted of him a pledge that his children 
should be brought up in the bosom of the 
Enghsh Church ; he would also be suffered to 
have about him such priests as were neces- 
sary for himself alone. Catholics being ex- 
cluded from any share in Government, and 
the Ministry being Protestants ; Lord Der- 
wentwater was to be made a Duke ; Tom to 
receive the rank and title of Earl of Bam- 
borough ; he himself was to be a permanent 
Under-Secretary, but I forget of what depart- 
ment — I think, however, it was of the Navy, 
because, like all EngHshmen, he loved ships, 
and was ready at any time to prove that the 
English fleets were being ruined. As for me, 
I was to be advanced to the rank of Earl's 
daughter, and to be styled the Lady Dorothy 
Forster. An unheard-of prosperity was to 
reward the whole country for its return to 
loyalty. Thus, w^e were to drive the French 
out of North America, which, from the Gulf 
of Mexico to the North Pole, was to belong to 
the Enghsh ; we were to estabHsh new trading 
forts along the coast of India, and oust the 



MR. HILYARD's dream, 197 

French from their settlements in the East. 
"We were to turn the Dutch out of the Cape of 
Good Hope ; to extend our trade to China; to 
occupy the islands newly discovered in the 
great Pacific Ocean. 

* Why/ I said, * it is a dream of universal 
conquest.' 

' It is more,' he went on. * We shall 
establish wherever we go the teaching of the 
pure Gospel and the Articles of the Church 
of England ; we shall even convert to 
Protestantism the Irish people, so that they, 
too, like the rest of the United Kingdom, 
shall become contented and loyal.' 

A thousand other prophecies, projects, and 
designs he had which I forget or cannot write 
down, because it makes my head swim only to 
think of them. Mr. Hilyard's head was 
always filled with such inventions, fancies, and 
imaginations. 

Unfortunately, all this beautiful structure 
of history proved to be only what the French 
call a Chateau en Espagne, that is to say, a 
castle in the air, a child's tower built of 
cards, a dream of the morning. For in 
a day or two we heard the choking news that 



198 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

the Elector of Hanover had been proclaimed 
King without opposition. There were no 
bonfires for the Prince, no illuminations, no 
shouting of a loyal mob. The 'Jacks,' we 
heard, were downcast and despairing. At 
White's Coffee House the gentlemen looked 
at each other with blank faces ; the Whigs 
cocked their hats and went with sprightly 
mien. As for poor Queen kxmQ^ no one, 
so far as we could hear, seemed to pity 
her. It is the fate of Kings. In their life- 
time they are the idols (if they believe all 
they are told) of their subjects ; they are 
models of virtue and piety ; they are endowed 
by Heaven with genius incomparable ; yet 
when they die no one laments ; and the praise 
is transferred to the successor. Queen Anne 
is dead. Wherefore, without so much as a 
* Poor Queen Anne !' throw up caps and 
shout for the pious and virtuous Prince who 
is crossing the sea in the Peregrine yacht, 
no doubt full of love towards his loving 
subjects. 

'Alas!' cried Mr. Hilyard, when he had 
somewhat recovered the blow. ' To the 
wise man who hath read history and reflects, 



MR, HILYARDS DREAM. 199 

the rocks resound with the clashing of arms, 
and the rivers run with blood.' He added, 
one after the other, half a dozen passages 
from the Latin poets, all of which fortified 
him in this gloomy opinion. 

After this it seemed as if there was no 
more peace or quietness for us, but for ever 
disquieting rumours. Mr. Hilyard would 
ride as far as Alnwick for news, or even 
to Newcastle. Sometimes Lady Crewe would 
send me a London letter. In this way 
we heard that London was greatly disturbed, 
but the City firm for the Protestant Succes- 
sion ; that men were constantly flogged, 
flung into prison, and fined for loyalty to 
the Prince : the air was full of rumours. 
In the General Election of 1714, Tom was 
returned again without opposition : he also 
visited Lady Crewe and the Bishop ; I have 
reason to believe that they advised him again 
to move with caution and have nothing to 
do with plots. Alas ! he was already drawn 
in, and now too far gone to recede. Besides, 
under his frank and easy nature there lay, as 
we all knew, a loyalty towards his friends 
which nothing could shake. This was 



200 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

shown in the end, when others held back and 
he led the way. 

' There is/ said Mr. Hilyard, speaking of 
this time, long afterwards, ' a point in the 
history of all conspiracies at which a man, 
who has gone so far, cannot retire. His 
honour is at stake — more, his very safety 
demands that he continue ; he is involved 
in the common ruin or the common triumph. 
In this respect the history of all conspiracies 
is the same.' 

As for this one, which was hatching, 
as one may say, for fifteen years, how should 
I know it, except from such shreds and 
scraps as Mr. Hilyard hath got for me 
and pieced together after a fashion ? The 
chief leaders who were known, such as 
Bishop Atterbury, the Duke of Ormond, 
and Lord Bolingbroke, had with them men 
of equal rank with themselves. With them 
were associated a great number of gentle- 
men : some of them Irish adventurers, some 
younger sons, some clergymen, who served 
as messengers — it was designed by means 
of these messengers to ensure risings on 
or about the same day in various parts of 



MR. HILYARDS DREAM, 201 

the kingdom. Commands were formed ; Tom, 
for instance, was to lead the Prince's forces 
in the north, assisted (because he knew 
nothing of the art of war) by Colonel 
Oxbrough ; honours were to be bestowed 
and places given to those who faithfully 
served the Prince. His Eoyal Highness 
would himself join the insurgents : at the 
first considerable success, it was confidently 
reckoned that the troops would break away 
and come over to us. As for the Highlanders, 
they were already safe ; our side would give 
them pay. The Established Church would be 
left undisturbed : and, as for the Dissenters — 
why, in the opinion of most of these Tories, 
there were few punishments too bad for a 
Dissenter. 

* As for me, Tony,' said Tom, partly 
unfolding this design — but he knew very 
well that he could trust his man — ' as for 
me, I am assured of a peerage. That, with 
a grant of land — some of the confiscated 
estates — and a post in the Ministry, will 
satisfy me. I am not greedy. Hang it, 
man — (this bottle is finished ; open t'other) — 
prate not to me of prudence ! there are too 



202 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

many of us embarked not to make it a safe 
job. Besides, think you, Tony, that I like 
being my lady's pensioner ? What assurance 
have I that, in the end, she does not throw 
me over ; or that my lord hath devised 
the Bamborough estates to her, or to me 
after her death ? And then, am I to fall 
back upon Etherston, where my father is 
already so crippled that the most he can do 
is to keep himself, with his wife and children 
and my brother Jack ? What will it be 
when madam's jointure has to be added ? 
Why, half the gentlemen in Northumberland 
want such a windfall as a successful rising to 
put them on their legs again. We will burn 
all the papers, Tony, and hang up the rascal 
lawyers, who are Whigs to a man, and would 
turn honest people out of their own, because 
they owe a parcel of debt.' 

He presently went back to London, and we 
waited, being pretty sure that the attempt 
would not be far off. 

' Oh !' I cried, ' they are strong men and 
brave men, and the country is with them ! 
and yet they wait and wait, and the time it 
passeth by.' 



MR. HILYARDS DREAM. 203 

•Nay/ said Mr. Hilyard gently; ^ but 
this business of rebellion and civil war is a 
most dreadful thing, as well for the right as 
for the wrong. Certain I am that not with- 
out grievous bloodshed, and perhaps a religious 
war as great and terrible as that in France a 
hundred and fifty years ago, will the Prince 
come to his own. Consider, I pray you, the 
sufferings of the wounded, the agonies of 
widows and orphans, the ruined homes — alas ! 
the pity of it.' 

He stopped, being greatly moved — indeed, 
since he understood the measure of the danger 
and the certainty of the design, he had been 
much cast down — and presently fetched down 
a great volume, in the reading of which he 
ever took great delight. 

' Let me,' he said, ' read to you something 
on this subject by the learned Burton, in his 
** Anatomy of Melancholic." ' 

He read a chapter concerning war and its 
dreadful evils. At the reading I was filled 
with shame that I should desire so grievous a 
thing. And yet, what to do, since the right 
cause must prevail, and there lies but one 
way ? 



204 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

* The right cause/ said Mr. Hilyard. 
* Yes ; the right cause, truly. Yet the trouble 
remains, in all human affairs, to find out the 
right cause. For, except to women, who are 
ever certain and sure that they possess the 
Truth absolute, there is always so much to 
say, first on this side, then on the other, and 
that without being a rhetorician or chopper of 
logic ; so that even I, for my own part, do 
not always discern which is the right. Truly, 
I think that, in all our human institutions, 
there is so much of error in the foundation 
that it infects the whole. For, as to the 
Divine Eight of Kings, how know we who 
first made the first king ? Was it, perchance, 
some tall and strong man, such as Mr. Stokoe, 
who elected himself? And have not, in all 
ages, kings supported themselves by wars — 
that is, by strength ? Would it not have 
been better to have had no kings ? Rome 
was never so happy as under a Republic, nor 
Athens as under her Archons ; the greatness 
of Sparta compareth not with that of Athens. 
Yet, again, is the ignorant and greasy mob to 
rule all, being swayed by brutal passions and 
ungoverned desires ?' - 



MR, HILYARD's dream, 205 

' Do you mean, Mr. Hilyard, that the 
Prince's cause is not a holy and righteous 
cause ?' 

' I mean, Miss Dorothy, that the cause 
embraced by his honour, my patron and 
benefactor, and by you, whose humble servant 
I am, is also mine, whether it be right or 
wrong.' 

He bowed his head, and his eye glittered. 
Never before, save when he personated the 
Prince in the village inn, had I seen a more 
noble look in his face. He was, it is true, 
only my lady's steward, and a poor scholar, 
who had been Tom's tutor, notorious through- 
out the county for his buffooneries and his 
singing ; yet our gentlemen would have done 
well had they taken his counsel before they 
trusted their own. 

All this time Lord Derwentwater made no 
sign, and though an attempt has been made 
to prove that he was privy to the design from 
the beginning, it is not true. I say not that 
he suspected nothing. He would have been a 
stock and stone, and a fool to boot, not to 
know very well that serious things were con- 
templated. But, for his part, he was not 



2o6 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

consulted ; that is most certain. He wished 
for nothing but peace and quiet, and the 
society of wife and children. Yet the men 
who projected the rebellion knew very well 
that they were sure of him. It was not only 
that he was the grandson of King Charles — 
other sons and grandsons, such as the Dukes 
of Kichmond and St. Alban's, were not 
ashamed, any more than the Lady Dorchester, 
once the mistress of King James himself, to 
attend King George's coronation — it was be- 
cause he had been the playfellow of the 
Prince, and was known to be of the highest 
honour and courage. 

Early in the year 1715 — I think in March — 
the Houses of Parliament were opened by the 
King, who called the attention of both Houses 
to the assistance which the Prince was ex- 
pecting to receive. Then we heard that Lord 
Bolingbroke had fled. Then other rumours 
reached us ; as that search for treasonable 
papers had been conducted in the barracks ; 
that all officers had been ordered to return to 
their regiments at once ; that the Prince had 
left Lorraine ; that the Earl of Mar had gone 
into Scotland — what does it matter to set 



MR. HILYARDS DREAM, 207 

down all the things we heard and talked in 
those days ? 

* How can I tell/ asked Mr. Hilyard, 
* which way London doth now incline ? In 
my young days we were all for King William 
and the Protestant religion ; nor can I un- 
derstand how the better sort — the Lord 
Mayor, the Aldermen, Common Council, and 
grave citizens — can have changed, unless 
it be that the stories we hear are true, and 
that there is not a man about the new 
Court who is a good Churchman, or even a 
staunch Dissenter. Indifference and unbelief 
the City will not endure any more than 
Popery.' 

Then we heard that there w^as a general 
flight from London of all the Koman Catholics. 
This was followed by a proclamation ordering 
Papists to withdraw to at least ten miles from 
London ; a clergyman in Edinburgh begged 
the prayers of the congregation for a young 
gentleman that either ^vas, or would soon be, 
at sea ; riots were reported from Oxford, 
Birmingham, and other places ; and yet the 
houses and the shipping on the Thames were 
illuminated when King George went up and 



2o8 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

down the river ; and a camp was formed in 
Hyde Park. 

^One day in August I received a letter 
from Lady Crewe, superscribed, ' Haste ! 
Post Haste !' She had, she said, heavy news 
to communicate about Tom. She had heard 
from a safe quarter that the Ministry had re- 
solved upon seizing the persons of all the 
principal Jacobite gentlemen of the north 
and elsewhere. Among them she knew were 
included Mr. Thomas Forster the younger. 

' I know not,' she added, ^ what corres- 
pondence (if any) my nephew hath had with 
the Prince and his friends, or what papers he 
hath in his possession. Do thou, however, 
Dorothy, enjoin him strictly from me, if he 
be riding north (which seems likely, since I 
have had no late tidings of him), that he burn 
all his papers, and then surrender himself, lest 
worse follow, unto the nearest magistrate, 
until the storm be past. In this counsel the 
Bishop joins heartily. One must be, he says, in 
such times as these either the reed or the oak. 
Tom is not strong enough to be the oak. Let 
him be the reed, and meet the tempest with 
bowed head. This for thy private eye.* 



MR. HILYARDS DREAM. 209 

We read and discussed this letter all the 
day. We knew nothing — whether Tom was 
still in London, or whether we could write 
to him. Mr. Hilyard was of opinion that, the 
times being clearly perilous, the safest place 
for a Tory gentleman was the Tower, and 
for safety's sake the more of them there the 
better. 

* Because,' he said, * they will not hang 
them all, and they dare not hang one.' 

It was soon after dark in the evening, the 
day being the 28th of August, the people of 
the village being all abed, and the place 
quiet, that we heard a clattering of hoofs in 
the road outside, stopping at the gate of the 
Manor House ; and Mr. Hilyard went outside, 
curious and perhaps disquieted, as one is 
always before the arrival of misfortune. He 
returned immediately, bringing with him no 
other than Tom himself. His shoulders 
were bent, his face pale, his eyes anxious, his 
clothes covered with dust and mud. 

* Quick, Dorothy !' he said ; * a drink. 
Let it be October. Quick !' 

He drained about a quart of ale, and then 
set down the mug with a sigh. 

VOL. II. 33 



2IO DOROTHY FORSTER. 

* Why — so — that makes a man of me 
again. I have been in the saddle for fifteen 
hours, and am well-nigh spent. There hath 
been as yet no messenger or officers after 
me?' 

' None, Tom.* 

* Well, I can lie here, I think, one night. 
To-morrow I must be up, and away again.' 



CHAPTER XXII. 

THE FUGITIVE. 

After he had taken some suj)per and was re- 
freshed, Tom began to tell us more. 

* Everything/ he said, ' was discovered — 
I know not by what treachery. The King, 
who seems anxious not to offend the House, 
asked permission to arrest six of the mem- 
bers, of whom I was one, so that there was 
time for warning ; and for my own part, 
whatever the others did, I saddled my horse 
and rode away, and, I dare say, the mes- 
senger after me. But I think he hath not 
travelled quite so fast, and I may be safe here 
for one night at least.' 

He laughed, but uneasily. In his eyes 
there was the look of a hunted creature, and 
he started at the least sound. Presently, 
however, he became so heavy with sleep and 

33—2 



212 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

weariness that he must needs go to bed, and 
so, messenger or no messenger, threw himself 
upon his bed and fell asleep. 

We sat up late, thinking how best to hide 
him ; yet not so late but that before five in 
the morning I was up, expecting no less than 
to find the messenger at the door. But 
there was no one. Presently, Tom came, 
awakened by Mr. Hilyard, and grumbling 
that he could not have his sleep out. But 
there was no time to lose, for the village was 
already stirring. 

The garden of the Manor House is sepa- 
rated from the sands only by a field of coarse 
grass. By crossing this field, which can 
generally be done without being seen by any 
of the villagers, one can gain access to the 
castle by the old postern. It was thus that 
we hurried Tom to his first place of conceal- 
ment — a chamber known to no one but Mr. 
Hilyard and myself. It is below the level of 
the inner bailly, but yet not underground, 
because its window is above the rock, and 
looks out across the sand and the sea. The 
chamber was perhaps once used for a place of 
confinement, though the window is larger 



THE FUGITIVE. 213 

than one commonly finds in such gloomy- 
places . It is approached by certain vaults 
now ruinous and partly fallen in, the entrance 
to which is itself half hidden by broken stones 
and briars, so that it looks like a broken hole 
in the wall. Here we thought he might lie 
hidden as long as he pleased. 

At first Tom was as pleased as a child with 
a new toy. As soon, however, as he felt 
himself safe from pursuit, he began to reflect 
that a cell might be secure but yet uncom- 
fortable. So anxious were we about the 
main point that we gave no thought to any- 
thing else, and considered not the wretched- 
ness of waiting all day long in a stone 
chamber whose window has no glass, and 
where there is neither chair, bed, nor table, 
nor any convenience at all for comfort. The 
conveyance of these things to the chamber 
without observation or suspicion gave me the 
first of many lessons in the difficulty of being 
secret ; anybody may easily keep a secret, 
but no one knows, except those who have un- 
happily been forced to try, how hard it is to 
do a thing secretly, so as neither to be seen 
nor suspected. In a few days, the history of 



214 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

the warrant and Tom's flight might be known 
even in this remote village : the messengers 
would certainly come here in search of him ; 
it was, therefore, of vital importance that his 
presence should be suspected by no one. 
How, therefore, all that day I conveyed small 
pieces of furniture to the end of the garden 
and dropped them over the wall for Mr. 
Hilyard to pick up and carry them across to 
the castle ; how, with his own hands, that 
ingenious man, as ready with a carpenter's 
tools as with a Latin poem, constructed and 
fitted first a window-shutter and afterwards a 
rude kind of window -sash ; how he carried 
blankets, candles, wine, tobacco, and pro- 
visions, to the cell, need not be related. No 
one, from the mere fact of seeing us go up to 
the castle, would have suspected anything, 
because it was my daily resort. 

At nightfall we carried a goodly supply of 
supper and whisky to the cell, and there I 
left Mr. Hilyard, who came not away until 
Tom was so much fortified by strong drink 
that he was in a condition not to fear the 
ghosts of the castle, and was, in fact, already 
asleep upon the hard bed we had made up for 



J HE FUGITIVE, 215 

him with blankets and pillows strewn on the 
stones. 

Thus our charge began. As early in the 
morning as was possible without causing any 
who saw to ask why, I went to the castle, 
carrying breakfast under my cloak. All the 
morning I sat with Tom. At one o'clock I 
took him dinner ; in the evening Mr. Hilyard 
brought supper and sat with him. 

After a time our prisoner grew peevish, and 
hard to please. He was anxious to change 
his quarters, and had it not been for a scare 
that we had would perhaps have gone off to 
seek shelter elsewhere. Of this I will speak 
presently. 

He laughed scornfully at Lady Crewe's 
counsel. It would be safe, he said, for him 
to surrender when the Prince himself could 
safely surrender, and not before. There was 
enough against him to hang a dozen men, 
if hanging was to begin ; and he had left 
all his papers behind to be seized by the 
officers. 

* When the ship is sinking,' he said, ' a 
man cares first to get off alive. I knew not 
when the warrant would arrive, so mounted 



2i6 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

and rode away without waiting for anyone. 
Why, what matters ? If they had not taken 
my papers, they would have taken some 
other's/ 

It was a grave business, indeed ; and 
graver than we looked for at first, when we 
thought he was to be arrested only on account 
of his opinions. 

* So it is, however, Dorothy,' he said, 
* and nothing is left but to push on the 
Prince's interest. Fear not, child ! Why, 
all is ready ; the country is with us ; the 
train is laid. Yet a week or two and thou 
shalt see an explosion will startle all England. 
Fortune and rank are before us when we have 
succeeded.' 

' And if we fail ?' Mr. Hilyard muttered 
with serious face. 

' Tony,' said Tom, ' I take that for a most 
peevish, ill-natured speech. '* If we fail," he 
says ! Why, do you ask a sailor when he 
embarks what he will do if the ship be 
wrecked ? or a soldier before a battle, how if 
he be shot ? Hark ye, brother — there is one 
comfort for me if we fail. I risk my neck, 
but not my estates, for I have none. So talk 



THE FUGITIVE. 217 

no more of failure, Tony, if you love 
me.' 

Whenever I think of this time, and consider 
that we were engaged upon so dangerous a 
piece of work, much I wonder that we carried 
it through with success. Yet we did, thanks 
to the extraordinary precautions taken by Mr. 
Hilyard. For, first, he would have none in 
the secret at all — no, not even Tom's old 
companions, Ned Swinburne and Perry 
Widdrington, though they rode over a dozen 
times for news of their friend. 

To them Mr. Hilyard replied that he had 
good assurance of his honour's safety, but 
that until Mr. Forster chose to reveal his 
whereabouts it would be better for his friends 
not to inquire. Nor would he suffer any of 
the people in the village to be informed, nor 
the maids in the house, saying that these 
would be the first to be suspected, and, if they 
were arrested, would certainly, from sheer 
terror and dread of the whipping-post, tell all 
they knew. * Pinch a rat,' he said, * and he 
will squeak.' As for the additional food 
required, we both pretended great and un- 
common appetite. Mr. Hilyard, for his part 



21 8 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

generally a small eater, though valiant with a 
bottle, assumed the guise of a desperate 
trencherman, comparing himself with the 
Grand Monarque himself, who is said to 
devour daily enough to maintain ten ordinary 
people (I mean not in the rhetorical sense, in 
which he hath devoured — that is, impoverished 
— his whole country, but in the literal sense). 
Then, after nightfall, he would steal out, 
carrying a great basket laden with next day's 
provisions, to the chamber in the castle, 
where Tom would take his supper, and they 
would talk, drink, and smoke tobacco till the 
prisoner was sleep3^ This we did during the 
whole of the month of August and half-way 
through September, Tom all the time expect- 
ing every day to hear of a rising over the 
whole country. No news coming to us, he 
chafed and wondered by what mischance the 
project was hindered. I cannot doubt that 
what Tom told me was true, and that so many 
noblemen and gentlemen all over the country 
should be in the plot, should have given 
solemn promises, and should be looking for 
the business to begin, fills me now with 
amazement that the result was so meagre. 



THE FUGITIVE. 219 

Alas ! it costs more than promises to make a 
Rebellion become a Revolution. 

As for the scare of which I have spoken, it 
was caused by the visit of Mr. Ridley, Justice 
of the Peace, with three or four messengers, 
armed with a warrant to search for Tom. 
With him was my father, grave and anxious, 
my brother Jack, and my half-brother Ralph, 
now a lad of thirteen or fourteen. 

* Dorothy/ whispered my father, ^surely 
thou hast not been so foolish as to hide Tom 
in the Manor House ?' 

* Nay, sir,' I replied truthfully, and aloud. 
* Tom is not here. Mr. Ridley might like, 
perhaps, to content himself.' 

Mr. Ridley told us that he was charged to 
look for and to arrest Mr. Thomas Forster 
the younger ; that he had been traced north 
as far as Newcastle ; and that it was believed 
he had taken refuge in this, his own house. 
1 assured him that he was not there. At 
first he was for taking my word, but his 
officers murmured. Therefore he said that 
he must, with my permission, visit the house. 
This he did in a civil and discreet manner, 
being a gentleman of as old a family as our 



220 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

own, and by no means desirous of finding 
Tom. They went into all the rooms, one 
after the other ; first my own, with the maids' 
room beside it ; Tom's room next, with his 
bed ready made, but no sign of its having 
been used, and Mr. Hilyard's last. 

Then the officers whispered together again, 
and, with Mr. Eidley, rode up to the castle- 
wall, where all dismounted, and went into the 
ruins, my father and I following. 

' I ask not where he is, Dorothy,' said my 
father. * Sure I am that he would tell thee. 
But is he safe ? Mr. Ridley tells me that 
there is as much against him as against the 
Duke of Ormond.' 

'I believe, sir,' I replied, 'that he is 
perfectly safe.' 

They searched the great keep from top 
to bottom ; they peered down the well ; they 
climbed the broken stairs ; they looked into 
the open and roofless rooms, along the broken 
w^alls ; and they found nobody. But they did 
not know of the ruined vaults, where the 
ground slopes northwards to the postern-gate, 
nor did they know that in a chamber beneath 
their feet, looking across the sands, sat at 



THE FUGITIVE, 221 

that moment Mr. Forster himself, with Mr. 
Hilyard, a tankard of ale between them, and 
each with a pipe of tobacco in his mouth, as 
if they had been at White's in St. James's 
Street. 

Then they went away, and so we were 
quiet, except for our scare. For my own 
part, I confess that I was pale with terror, 
an^ my heart beat, but chiefly on account 
of the boy Ealph, who still kept running 
here and there, as if, like the foolish and 
ignorant lad that he was, he wished to 
discover his brother's hiding-place; and I 
was ashamed of myself for being so bad an 
actor, because my cheeks and eyes made 
it manifest to some that I was in fear, which 
made the men continue the search more 
narrowly. 

* Humph !' said my father at length, when 
the officers desisted from the search, and left 
the castle. * Send me Mr. Hilyard to- 
morrow morning.' 

But Mr. Hilyard told him nothing, and so 
discreetly conducted himself that he left my 
father in ignorance whether or no he knew 
where Tom was hidden. 



222 D0R07HY FORSTER, 

One officer remained in the village. He 
knew nothing concerning Mr. Hilyard, but 
thought that if he followed me about he 
should certainly learn something. Wherefore, 
I made feigned expeditions, and led him many 
a pretty dance to Belford, Lucker, Beal, 
and North Sunderland, and would have taken 
him farther afield (because he had tender 
feet), but that my own legs would carry 
me no farther. While I was thus tramping 
across the fields, Mr. Hilyard was sitting 
with the fugitive in his retreat, keeping him 
cheerful. 

And presently the officer went away too, 
and we heard that they were looking for Tom 
in the houses of his friends. 

' Let them search everywhere,' said Mr. 
Hilyard. ' I fear nothing but his own im- 
patience.' 

Tom could not, in fact, endure the confine- 
ment of his cell ; once or twice he broke 
loose, and I surprised him walking about 
in the inner court of the castle by day, 
as if secure that no one would enter : it 
is irksome for an active man to be kept 
all day long in a little chamber half under- 



THE FUGITIVE, . 223 

ground. Then he railed at poor Mr. Hilyard 
for not taking his friends into confidence ; 
for not bringing him more beer; because 
his food must needs be cold ; because 
he would not sit with him all day long ; 
and was as unreasonable as a child, taking 
the service and patience of this faithful 
creature as if it were a thing to which 
he was entitled. At night, with his punch 
and his tobacco, he was easier, and told, 
over and over again, how he became a 
conspirator : chiefly because he hoped for 
wealth, and could not bear to think that 
he was, save for the small inheritance of 
Etherston, a dependent on the bounty of 
his aunt. I think that if Lady Crewe had 
given him some part of the estate which 
she designed for him it might have been 
better. Yet who would assure her that 
this part, too, would not go the same way 
as it had gone before ? After all, it is 
the way of the county ; Tom was not 
the only Northumberland gentleman who 
loved a lavish way of life ; he was not the 
only man who cast in his fortunes (after 
they w^ere ruined) with those of the Prince 



224 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

(which, I now perceive, were desperate), 
in the hope of winning back all, and more. 
But if he had owned something he might 
have been content to wait. 

Other news Mr. Hilyard got together ; as 
that Lord Derwentwater remained perfectly 
quiet : Tom declared that he was never in 
any conspiracy or plot whatever ; his house at 
Dilston harboured none of the secret mes- 
sengers; to all appearance he was entirely 
occupied in the management of his estates, 
and in the new house w^hich he proposed 
to build, and, indeed, had already begun, 
but had no time to finish. I have seen 
a letter written by him in this very month 
of August, in which he expressed his earnest 
prayer for peace and quiet, * of which,' 
he added, 'we have had so little as yet.' 
Ah ! had this most amiable of men been 
born in a lowlier station ! Could he, without 
reproach, have spent his life careless of 
princes and politics, how happy would he 
have been ! Some of us seem especially 
born for happiness ; they evidently desire 
it both for themselves and for those they 
love ; they are by nature benevolent, generous, 



THE FUGITIVE. 225 

active in relieving those who suffer : such 
an one was my lord, born to be himself 
happy and to make others happy. 

It was, I remember, on September the 
15th, being Friday (a most ominous and 
unlucky day of the week), that Mr. Hilyard 
came running home with a face greatly 
agitated. 

* They have begun !' he cried. Then 
he sat down and looked round him as one 
who is trying to understand the meaning 
of things. ' They have begun ! Alas ! It 
needed not a prophet to foretell, when 
the Queen died, the blood which should 
flow.' 

* Who have begun, Mr. Hilyard ? Tell me 
— quick !' 

' Let us go tell his honour. He was 
right ; they have begun, and no man can 
tell the end. It is easy to talk of rebellion ; 
but to play at it — there, indeed ! But let 
us to the castle and tell his honour.' 

He rose, and shook his head dolefully. 

* What hath been begun T I repeated. 

* The Scots have begun. Four days ago 
they proclaimed the Prince at Kirk Michael. 

VOL. II. 34 



226 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

I have it from the gipsies, some of whom 
were there and saw it done. They are 
reported to be ah-eady 5,000 strong.' 

This was news indeed. Should we be 
kept back when the Scots had led the 
way ? Why, in a moment, all the things I 
had heard since I was a child rushed to 
my brain. The rising was always to begin 
in Scotland ; it was to be supported by 
the Highlanders ; it was to be followed by 
risings in Ireland, the West, the North, and 
the Midland Counties. The project was 
always the same. And now, after many 
years, we were to see the great design 
carried out. The thing was so great, that 
to think of it actually as begun made one's 
head to reel. 

'Yes,' said Mr. Hilyard gravely, 'his 
honour will have his chance at last. It is 
an Earl's coronet — promised by the Chief of 
a House which is famous, as everybody knows, 
for keeping promises — the gratitude of the 
Prince on the one side ; on the other — what ? 
At the best, flight in France ; at the worst — 
nay. Miss Dorothy, look not so pale. In 
war, even in civil war, which is fiercer and 



THE FUGITIVE. 227 

more sanguinary, there are a thousand chances. 
What ! The Prince may be successful ; the 
army, as they hope, may join him ; the 
sailors, as they desire, may mutiny; the 
people, as they trust, may love Divine Eight 
more than they fear the fires of Smithfield ; 
they may love the comely face of a young 
Prince more than they dread the Inquisition. 
What do I know ? Even London — all is 
possible ; all — believe me. Wherefore, cou- 
rage ! we are embarked upon an enterprise full 
of uncertainty. But courage ! all may yet go 
well, though one may still fear the worst.' 

With such despondency did Mr. Hilyard 
receive the news which filled my foolish heart 
with joy. But he was never a Tory at heart, 
being so jealous for the Protestant religion, 
that he could never believe the Church safe 
under a Catholic King. He went off, there- 
fore, hanging his head, to carry the news to 
the castle. 

Tom received the news with so much joy, 
that at first he was for throwing off all con- 
cealment, and at once proclaiming the Prince 
on the steps of Bamborough Castle. Then 
he would ride about openly and resist the 

34—2 



22S DOROTHY F0RS7ER. 

authority of the warrant ; or he would take 
up his residence at the Manor House ; or he 
would enlist as many men as possible, and go 
across the Border to join the Scots. All these 
steps Mr. Hilyard combated, pointing out that 
the pursuit and search after him would be the 
hotter for the Scotch news ; that to resist the 
warrant would be madness, unless he were 
assured of his friends' backing ; and that n3 
Northumberland men would cross the Border 
to fight beside the Scots. 

' However,' said Tom, * one thing I am 
resolved — I will leave this cursed doghole, 
and that at once. "Where else canst thou stow 
a man, Tony T 

' Why, indeed,' said Mr. Hilyard, * there is 
no place so snug as this. But, if proper pre- 
cautions are used, I see not why Fame Island 
— but that when all else fails — or Blanchland, 
or there are dry holes up Devilstone Water, 
or there are the miners' huts at Allendale, or, 
if the worst comes to the worst, there are the 
gipsies, who would take your honour across 
the Cheviots by a safe path, and so to Lord 
Mar himself, if you are assured ' 

* Assured, man ! I am assured of nothing, 



THE FUGITIVE. 229 

save that it is my only chance. But first let 
me talk with some of my friends.' 

He was so restless that, to keep him quiet, 
we agreed to ride with him to Blanchland, 
where he might confer with Lord Derwent- 
water. We rode by night for greater safety, 
resting at the house of a friend who shall be 
nameless — of friends there were plenty — in 
the day. There was to be one more night 
journey for me with Tom, but of that I knew 
not then, and rode beside him proud and 
joyful that the long suspense was to be ended 
and the battle fought. The God of War is 
worshipped, I am sure, with as much faith by 
women as by men. To me, thinking while 
we rode silently in the light of the moon upon 
the open moor or in the black shade of the 
woods, my heart glowed within me, and it 
seemed as if we were only doing at last what 
ought to have been done long ago : since the 
right was with us, the Lord was with us. 

' Yes,' said Mr. Hilyard, when I told him 
this. ' But still I say, happy the man who 
joins the last, when he is quite sure the Lord is 
with the cause, and hath proved His favour 
by manifestiug His might. How know we 



230 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

that, if Heaven intends to interfere, the time 
for interference hath yet arrived ?' 

Thus it is with men who exhort each other 
to be strong, to have faith, to rejoice in right 
and justice, and to make poor women feel 
certain. Yet, when the time comes, there 
are so many doubts and hesitations that one 
looks on in amaze, and asks where faith hath 
gone. 

No messengers had come to Blanchland, nor, 
w^e found, had any knowledge of the business 
reached to that place at all. We rested there 
one night, and the next morning I rose early, 
and, leaving Tom in this lonely retreat, rode 
across the moor with Mr. Hilyard, to Dilston, 
not without some misgivings of my meeting 
with the Earl (which were unworthy of him 
as well as of myself). 



CHAPTEE XXIII. 



WHAT WILL HE DO 



When last I saw Dilston it was in the dead of 
winter; the woods were bare of leaves, and 
the dark Devilstone Water poured through its 
narrow rocky hanks in a broad stream ; now 
the rocks were hidden with trees and brambles, 
alder, wych-elm, and rowan, and bright with 
summer flowers ; while, as one stood upon 
the little bridge, the shrunken water was like 
a little thread of silver running among great 
mossy stones. 

The courtyard of the castle was full of 
people — some old men and women waiting for 
the doles which were freely given every day ; 
some farmers wanting to have speech with my 
lord ; some stable-boys, grooms, and men 
with guns and dogs. As we went up the 



232 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

steps which lead to the great hall, he cam 3 
out himself and met us. 

* "Why, Mr. Hilyard !' he said, laughing ; 
' my lusty Tony ! how goes it with Mr. 
Forster T And here I threw back my hood 
and he recognised me. * Dorothy !' he cried, 
his kind eyes softening; ' my cousin Dorothy!' 
He gave me both his hands. * It is four 
years since we met — and then — you are well 
and happy, cousin ?' 

' Quite well, my lord ; and as happy as 
Tom's affairs will let me be.' 

' Come, let me take you to the Countess.' 

Happiness makes young mothers beautiful. 
Who could be more beautiful than the woman 
v/ho rose to meet me, tossing her little boy in 
her arms, while his saucy hands pulled and 
tangled her hair rolled back from her fore- 
head ? She was small of stature, and 
possessed bright eyes, and such a quickness 
of expression as I have never since seen in 
any other woman. She looked at me so 
curiously that I perceived she knew some- 
thing of what had passed between my lord 
and me. Then she made me sit down, took 
off my hood with her own hands, and gave 



IVHAT WILL HE DO? 233 

me a cup of chocolate, begging me to rest 
after my ride across the moor. 

' And where is Tom ?' asked the Earl. 

' He is now at Blanchland, where he much 
desires to see your lordship. You have not 
learned, perhaps, that the Scots are in 
arms.' 

' The Scots have risen ?' he cried, with 
change of colour. ' This is great news 
indeed !' 

' The Scots have risen ?' cried the Countess, 
clasping his arm with her little fingers. * This 
is good news indeed !' 

* I heard it from some gipsies,' said Mr. 
Hilyard. ' There was a hunting-party, where 
the Prince was proclaimed ; and they are said 
to be already many thousands strong. Mr. 
Forster, on hearing the news, left his hiding- 
place in the castle, and hath ridden to Blanch- 
land, where he desires the honour of a con- 
ference with your lordship.' 

* I will ride over this morning,' said the 
Earl thoughtfully. 

' But Dorothy will stay with me,' said his 
wife ; ' we will have our conference while you 
have yours.' 



234 DOROTHY F0RS7ER. 

He left us. As he rode away with Mr. 
Hilyard, he met outside the castle Mr. 
Errington, of Beaufront, to whom he told the 
news, and asked for counsel, 

* My lord,' said Mr. Errington gravely, 
' look around you. To whom do all these 
fair lands belong T 

'• Why, truly,' he replied, 'to myself.' 

' Then, my lord, do not, I charge you, risk 
so goodly an inheritance, save at the sure and 
certain call of honour.' 

I know not what passed between him and 
Tom, but I believe that Tom was all for 
action and the Earl for prudence. Mean- 
while, we women sat conversing of the 
children, and of household things, and of my 
lord's habits and tastes. By many little 
gentle touches and hints the Countess made 
me feel that she had heard of me, and how once 
her husband loved me, and gave me to under- 
stand that she was not jealous of any woman, 
because she knew that she possessed his whole 
heart (which was, indeed, the case, yet I hope 
I should never have given her cause for the 
least jealousy). 

My lord came back the same day, and after 



WHAT WILL HE DO? 



235 



supper we had a long and grave discourse, 
during which I discovered that he was truly 
much in love with his wife, and uneasy at 
the mere thought of exposing her and her 
children to the sorrow and unhappiness which 
would attend a failure ; that he now regarded 
the cause of the Prince as becomes one who 
hath so great a stake to lose ; that the 
Countess was far more eager than himself 
(as knowing less of the danger) ; and that 
he looked upon the news with distrust and 
suspicion. 

' Let us wait/ he said, ' for the English 
people to give their voice. Without the will 
of the people the Prince can never return.' 

' It rests,' said the Countess, ' with the 
natural leaders of the people to guide them.' 

My lord lauglied gently. 

' My dear,' he said, ' a Catholic in this 
country cannot be a leader. Let us wait. 
Now, cousin, tell us of yourself and of the 
hearts you have broken since you conquered 
mine, but kindly gave it back to me for future 
use.' 



The news of the Scottish rising made the 



236 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Government more anxious than ever to secure 
the leaders of the plot in England. Therefore 
Tom was quickly warned that he must quit 
Blanchland and seek safety elsewhere. First, 
he stayed a short while at the house of Mr. 
Patten, the Vicar of Allendale, and next — but 
it is a tedious task to tell of all his hiding- 
places ; for wherever he went, presently, by 
some treachery, the messengers in search of 
him got upon his track, and he had to change 
his quarters. Mr. John Fenwick, of Bywell, 
kept him for awhile, and here he would 
certainly have been caught, but that the 
messenger stayed half a mile from the house 
to get the aid of a constable, so that Tom had 
just time to escape, leaving his bed warm, so 
to speak. This Mr. Fenwick was expected to 
have joined the rising, but hung back, no 
doubt to his own great satisfaction, when he 
found how things were going. For this I 
neither praise nor blame him ; on the one 
hand, a man is right to hesitate when so 
great a thing as his estate and the fortunes 
of his children are at stake ; on the other, he 
ought not to raise vain expectations in the 
minds of his friends. Had all gone out who 



WHAT WILL HE DO f 237 

were expected or had promised, there might 
have been seen a different ending. 

As for me, I remained at Dilston, and for a 
fortnight more we expected news, but heard 
httle. Mr. Hilyard went backwards and 
forwards between Newcastle and Hexham, 
bringing in such intelHgence as he could 
learn. The Scottish rebels, it was certain, 
numbered 12,000 men. The Prince was 
expected daily ; they were masters of all 
Fife, with the seaboard ; Colonel Oxbrough, 
Captain Gascoigne, and Mr. Talbot had arrived 
at Newcastle to stir up the north, and remind 
loyal gentlemen of their pledges ; the Whigs 
at Newcastle were bestirring themselves ; men 
were looking at each other and expecting 
civil war ; but London was reported firm for 
the Protestant Succession, and the Prince and 
Princess of Wales every day going without 
fear among the people. And, alas ! Lady 
Crewe, from anxiety for her nephew's safety, 
had fallen into convulsions, or fits of some 
other kind, and was lying on her bed grievously 
ill. 

I think it was about the 28th of Septem- 
ber that Charles Kadcliffe brought us the 



233 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

news of the warrant issued against Lord 
Derwentwater. He rode all the way from 
London to warn his brother ; the messenger 
charged with his arrest was already at 
Durham. 

' TVhy r asked my lord. ' What haye I 
done that they should arrest me T 

'You are the Prince's companion and 
consin/ repKed his brother. ' Is not that 
enongh ? They think they will strike the 
Prince by strikino: you.' 

' Faith !' said Lord Derwentwater, smiling. 
' They know not his Hiorhness who think he 
can be struck through another.* 

After receiying this disquieting intelligence, 
my lord sat for a good while in silence^ and 
we women waited patiently to hear his con- 
clusion. Then he rose, and began to walk 
up and down the room in graye thought. We 
sat still with neyer a word. 

' Wife/ he said, at last, ' hast thou any 
«>gasel far tilry hnribamd r 

Slie diook her head at first. But he kiss^ 
her toidedy, and bade her qpeak what was in 
her mind. 

' I know/* she said, takii^ his hand and 



WHAT WILL HE DO f 259 

kissing it, ' yonr great love for your children 
and Your wife. You would not rashly do 
anght to imperil those you love. This I know 
fall weU, and am thankful therefor. But — 
oh. my lord ! — remember the days when we 
were little at St. Germain's, and you were a 
page of the Prince, and I, with my school- 
fellows, did all that women can — sprayed for 
him daily. Should it be said that Lord 
Derwentwater, when the chance came to 
bring the King to his own again, hung back, 
and left to others the honour ? Xay, my 
lord ' — (she threw herself upon his neck) — 
' I know : it is thy life? as well as thy fortune, 
that hangs upon this chance. Thy life — oh, 
my dear lord ! my dear lord ! and mine with 

itr 

• Sweetheart !' — my lord folded her ten- 
derly in his arms — ' were there a chance, 
beheve me, Derwent water would be the first. 
Yet, I doubt — I doubt whether the chance be 
not a forlorn hope. It is already a fortnight 
and more since we had tidings of the insurrec- 
tion, and as yet nothing hath been done, so 
far as we can teU. Patience, therefore. Let 
not thy quick woman's wit jump to the con- 



240 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

elusion that the business is done before we 
know if it be well begun.' 

Then he turned to me and said, with his 
sweet smile, in which present friendship was 
combined with the memory of the past : 

' Fair Dorothy, we have had many talks in 
the former time over this and other matters : 
give me thy counsel/ 

' Oh, my lord!' I said, moved to tears by 
the sight of this tenderness, ' what have I to 
say which her ladyship hath not already 
better said ? Yet I pray your lordship to do 
nothing rashly, and to think always of your 
wife and tender children.' 

And at that moment the nurse opened the 
door and brought them in — two little 
creatures with fair curling locks and blue 
eyes. The elder, who could walk, broke 
from his nurse's arms and ran across the floor 
with outstretched hands, crying to his father. 
The Earl caught him up and kissed him 
fondly. When he set the boy down again, 
his eyes were filled with tears. 

' My mind,' he said, * is made up. I am 
to be arrested, who have no knowledge of any 
plot at all. I will surrender.' 



WHAT WILL HE DO? 241 

He looked at his wife ; but she cast down 
her eyes, and he left the room. 

^ He will surrender!' said Charles. 'What, 
without a blow ?' 

' He will surrender,' said the Countess, 
' and I who looked to see him riding gallantly 
at the head of his regiment ' 

I have since that day often considered the 
case. I think, now, that he was right. For, 
if he surrendered, it was only one man the 
less (because he would never force his own 
people into the service) ; and, if he did not 
surrender, he would have to become, like 
Tom, a wanderer and fugitive, until he was 
forced, as Tom was forced, into taking up 
arms. 

Bat in this, as in everything else, fate was 
too strong for him. He repaired that same 
day to the house of Mr. B — — n, Justice of 
the Peace (I repress his name for pity, because 
his repentance must since surely have been 
as great as his fault was astonishing). This 
magistrate, after hearing what his lordship 
had to say, refused (illegally) to accept his 
surrender (whereby he brought my lord to his 
death), and persuaded him to return to his 

VOL. II. 35 



242 DOROTHY F0RS7ER. 

own house again. This my lord did in great 
heaviness. 

' The stars,' he said, * in their courses fight 
against me. All are of one mind. They say 
my death is sought. They will not suffer me 
to surrender. What next — ah ! Dorothy, 
what next ?' 

One thing was certain, that, if he did not 
surrender and would not be caught, he must 
go into hiding. And this he did. And for 
nearly three weeks, the great Earl of Derwent- 
water became a fugitive, living I know not 
exactly how or where, but in hiding always. 
And for us who remained behind there was 
nothing left but to pray and to hope. If we 
women were Jacobites before, judge what we 
were now, when all our hopes depended on 
success ! Charles stayed with us, waiting. 
He was full of courage and of heart, yet even 
he confessed that London was strong for the 
Protestant Succession — but London would 
come round. As for our armies ! They 
should drive King George's troops before 
them like cattle ; why, Lord Mar had 
with him already 12,000 men, and still 
they came flocking in — it did one good, at 



WHAT WILL HE DO f 243 

such a time, to have so gallant and brave a 
lad as Charles Eadcliffe with us. 

He knew, as well, that the three secret 
messengers who usually travelled in the north 
had arrived at Newcastle, viz. : Mr. John 
Shafto (who was afterwards shot at Preston) ; 
Captain Kobert Talbot, a Eoman Catholic, 
formerly in the French service (he was 
executed for high treason) ; and Captain John 
Hunter (hanged at Liverpool). "With them 
were Colonel Oxbrough, who had served under 
King James II. ; the two Wogans, Nicolas 
and Charles ; and Mr. James Talbot (who 
afterwards escaped from Newgate, but being 
retaken was executed). Other messengers 
there were, but I forget their names. 

I must not forget that one day, when we 
were talking about other things, I asked him 
for news of his brother Frank. 

He shook his head. 

* Frank,' he said, 'is troubled with a 
grievous cough, which keeps him much at 
home. Yet would he have ridden with me 
north, but was prevented.' 

He then went on to tell me that he was 

35—2 



244 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

held and bound captive by love, and that with 
an actress. 

' She was in his lodging/ he said, * when 
last I saw Frank, and sprang at me like a 
tigress when I asked him to come with me. 
^' He go a-fighting ?" she cried. '^ Never ! 
for any Prince or King among them all. Go 
tell my lord that I have got his brother, and 
am keeping him safe." Strange ! Frank is 
bewitched.' 

I thought no more about the matter at the 
time, but afterwards I remembered it. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE MEETING AT GREENKIG. 

There are many stories told of Lord Derwent- 
water's hiding-places ; as, for instance, that he 
was obliged to conceal himself in the Queen's 
Cave, where Queen Margaret and her son were 
kept in safety. It is true he met his wife in 
Deepden, because it is a retired spot not likely 
to be disturbed : indeed, there was no need 
for such hiding in caves, for he had made by 
his benevolence and generosity friends enough 
among his tenants and the poor people, who 
would have died rather than give him up. 
It was, however, intolerable that a man of 
his exalted rank should be in hiding at all, 
and before long there began to be spread 
abroad in whisper that a council of some kind 
was to be held. 

No one knew whose turn might come next. 



246 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

The case of Lord Derwentwater might be that 
of any gentleman in the county. When the 
meeting was held at which action was resolved 
upon, there was hardly a man present who 
did not expect his own arrest. It was at a 
place called Greenrig, upon the open moor 
between Blanchland and Dilston. Five years 
before the same company met together, but 
then for friendship and for feasting. Then all 
faces were gay ; now all were gloomy. Even 
with those who were young and those who 
had nothing to lose, it is a serious thing to 
draw the sword. My lord's eyes were anxious, 
and his forehead lined ; Tom was grave, his 
look suspicious, as if a messenger might lurk 
in every clump of heather. I know not how 
all were called together, but there came Lord 
Widdrington ; Sir William Swinburne and two 
brothers ; Mr. Clavering, of Callalee ; Mr. 
Fen wick, of Bywell ; Mr. Errington, of Beau- 
front ; Mr. Shafto ; Mr. Stokoe ; and a few 
others. Charles Eadcliffe was there — we all 
knew what was in the heart of that gallant 
boy. The Countess was present, her cheek 
flushed and angry, her eyes flashing. There 
came with Tom (besides Mr. Hilyard) his 



THE MEETING AT GREEN RIG. 247 

friend, who became afterwards his chief adviser 
in the field, Colonel Oxbrough, whom now I 
met (for the Countess and I rode across the 
moor with Charles) for the first time. I may 
not speak of the dead with blame, but sure 
and certain I am that if Tom had not fallen 
in with this gentleman he might have been 
now lord of the great Bamborough estates, 
and these free and unencumbered, as Ladv 
Crewe intended. Colonel Oxbrough was born 
to a good estate (perhaps he ran through it in 
the manner common to many Irish landlords) : 
he served under King James : he was a 
Catholic : in manner, he was unlike any of 
the other Irishmen engaged in this business, 
not loud in talk and hectoring like Captain 
Gascoigne, nor boastful like Captain Wogan, 
but of a calm, cold way of speech which had 
more effect than loud and boastful talk ; in 
appearance he was tall and thin, with bright 
eyes, aquiline nose, and firm lips : in manner 
he was courtly, and in demeanour mild and 
thoughtful, always showing great regard to the 
opinions of the man with whom he conversed. 
Yet of all the rebels, this man was the most 
determined ; he had made up his mind that 



248 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

for Ireland (for he cared nothing about England 
or Scotland) it was necessary that the King 
should he a Catholic : with that object he 
would go to the death willingly, but, further, 
I think he cared little. 

The servants held the horses at a convenient 
distance, and the gentlemen gathered together, 
some lying on the turf and some standing. 
The moor, purple with heather and ling, 
stretched away on every side ; there was no 
chance of interruption. As for the Countess, 
with whom I came, she stood beside her 
husband, her hands laid upon his left arm, 
her cheeks flushed and angry, her eyes flashing, 
gazing into his face as if she would read his 
thoughts. As for hers, I knew them. 

Then Lord Derwentw^ater spoke, slowly and 
seriously. No one, he said, had the interests 
of the Prince, his lawful King and Sovereign, 
more at heart than himself. This was so well 
known, that a warrant was issued, as they all 
knew, for his arrest ; no doubt his fate was 
determined before he had a chance of striking 
a blow. He desired at this meeting to take 
his friends' opinion whether the time had truly 
arrived for rising in the name of the Prince. 



THE MEETING A 7 GREEN RIG. 249 

For himself, he could not pretend to know the 
feeling of the country ; he had lived in it but 
five years, and never in London at all. But 
he was fully assured, he said, that nothing 
should be attempted in England, whatever 
the Scots might do, until it was clear, first, 
that the voice of the whole country was in 
favour of the Prince ; next, that a rising in 
one county would be immediately followed by 
others in all parts ; and lastly, that the temper 
of the army and the fleet should be favourable. 
^ For, gentlemen,' he continued, ' let us con- 
sider, I pray you, not only ourselves, who 
have a stake in the country which you hazard 
in this chance and fortune of uncertain war ; 
not only our own lives, which the common 
soldier risks for sixpence a day, and every 
sailor who goes afloat ; but also our wives 
and children, who will be ruined with us if 
we fail. Eemember the many grievous cases 
after the late unhappy Civil War, when English 
noblemen and gentlemen were almost begging 
their bread in France and the Low Countries. 
Also let us consider those poor faithful crea- 
tures, who will take pike and firelock and 
follow our fortunes. Therefore^ I say, unless 



250 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

the way is made plain to me, I will not so far 
weaken the Prince's cause as to throw away 
foolishly my fortune and my life/ 

At these words there was a murmur of 
approbation ; but the Countess clutched at 
my hand, murmuring, ' Oh ! he knows not 
his own strength. He has but to declare 
himself!' Then the gentlemen looked upon 
each other, and then upon Tom, who 
presently spoke. What he said was simple 
and in plain words, for he was no speaker, 
to the effect that his own part and share 
in the design was so great, and his name 
so fully involved, that there was no hope 
left for him, save in the succe3s of the 
undertaking ; that he was resolved to live 
no longer the life of a fox in a hole, but 
should, unless something was determined at 
this meeting, ride straightway across the 
Border and join the force of Lord Mar. As 
regarded the other gentlemen, each knew 
for himself how far he had gone, and whether 
it was safe to go back or go on, and he 
should not say one word to persuade any- 
one into an enterprise which might lead 
to fortune or might lead to death. Every 



THE MEETING AT GREEN RIG. 251 

man had his own life in his hands, and 
sometimes it was necessary to stake that 
life in the game. And so on, speaking, as 
it seemed to me, very sensibly and to the 
point, concluding by saying that he, for 
one, would draw and persuade no one to 
follow him. 

' He is not a man of books,' whispered 
Mr. Hilyard ; ' but Demosthenes could not 
have pleaded the cause of the Prince more 
artfully.' 

Lord Widdriugton followed. I knew little 
of his lordship, except from hearsay, and 
therefore I refrain from speaking about him. 
He was a Catholic, and at this time about 
thirty- eight or forty years of age, married 
to the daughter and heiress of Sir Thomas 
Tempest, of Stella ; he was also the grandson 
of Lord Fairfax, and therefore a cousin of my 
own. His family were lords of Widdrington 
even in the reign of Henry I. ; one of them 
was killed in an engagement with General 
Lilburne during the Civil Wars ; another 
fell at the Battle of the Boyne ; the present 
lord is brother-in-law to Lord Langdale, 
whom his sister married, and to Mr. Townley, 



252 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

of Townley, who joined the Eebelhon, but 
was acquitted. Other connections his lord- 
ship had which proved fortunate for him 
in the end, when all those who had interest, 
save one or two, managed to get a pardon. 
Lord Widdrington said, briefly, that it was 
clearly the duty of loyal gentlemen to take 
every opportunity of pressing forward the 
cause of the lawful Sovereign, and that he, 
for one, should be pleased if the gentlemen 
present should think the time opportune, 
and the hope of success so reasonable as to 
justify them in taking up arms. ' But/ 
he added, ' I applaud the maxim of Lord 
Derwentwater, that for the Prince's friends 
to get killed, and their property confiscated, 
would be a poor way of helping his Highness.' 
And with that he ended. 

Sir William Swinburne spoke next to the 
same effect ; and then Colonel Oxbrough, 
seeing that no other gentleman had anything 
to say, took off his hat and begged to 
be allowed speech. He said, speaking with- 
out any passion, and in a low voice and 
slowly, that, in his serious opinion, the times 
were never more ripe for action ; that since 



THE MEETING AT GREEN RIG. 253 

the death of the late Queen men had been 
looking at each other in wonder that nothing 
was done ; yet he, for one, would be slow 
to accuse the loyalists of England of indiffer- 
ence, since he was persuaded that nothing 
was wanting except a leader and an example. 
* Why, gentlemen/ he went on, ' here is 
before our eyes an example which is better 
than myriads of words. The Earl of Mar 
began with a thousand men, and hath now 
with him fully twelve thousand. His army 
is like a ball of snow, gathering strength 
as it rolls onward. Do you wish for a better 
example ? Ireland is waiting for the signal ; 
in the west of England they are also waiting ; 
Cumberland and Lancashire are full of loyal 
men ; London counts thousands of the 
Prince's frieuds ; his Highness is even now 
preparing to cross over and take the field 
in person. What better opportunity can you 
have ? What more can you desire ? If 
any other consideration were wanting, there is 
the fact that you are all very well known 
for the Prince's friends. What private 
promises you may each have made I know 
not, but would have you remember that 



254 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

treaclieiy hath ah-eady been at work ; I 
doubt not that in a few days you will be 
secured and clapped into separate prisons, 
or hurried away to London, where you will 
be severally examined, and none will know 
what the others will answer ; so that for 
very fear of betraying one another you may 
verily do it. This, gentlemen, is a dis- 
agreeable thing to contemplate. Yet there 
seems, in my humble opinion, only one way 
to prevent it.' 

Well, still they looked at one another, 
for no one would be the first to propose 
so grave a step. Colonel Oxbrough stood 
silent, with grave composed look, and made 
no sign of impatience. But then the Countess 
herself sprang into the middle of the circle, 
and with the air and manner of a queen, 
flung her fan upon the ground before them 
all, crying, ' Take my fan, then, gentlemen, 
and give me your swords !' 

My lord's face flushed crimsou, as he 
picked it up and restored it to her. 

' Gentlemen,' he said, quietly, * enough 
talking.' 

He took off his hat, and drew his sword, 



THE MEETING AT GREEN RIG, 255 

crying, * God save King James !' All their 
swords flashed, and every man tossed up his 
hat, crying, * God save King James !' 

* Why,' said Colonel Oxbrough quietly, 
* I knew there could be but one end. 
Madam ' — he bowed low to the Countess, 
who stood with clasped hands, panting breast, 
flushed cheek, and parted lips gazing upon 
her husband — ' Madam, as it w^as said of 
Queen EHzabeth, so shall it be said of your 
ladyship — '^ Dux foeminafacti." ' 

Mr. Hilyard, who stood behind me, and 
had no sword to draw, groaned and sighed, 
but nobody heard him except myself. 

*Alas!' he said, whispering, * Colonel 
Oxbrough is a dangerous man : he knows 
that with many the surest spur to courage is 
fear. That is why, in the ancient temples, 
Fear is represented and painted with a lion's 
head. It is fear which drives them all. 
His honour is afraid because he knows not 
how much hath been reported of his sayings, 
meetings and conspiracies in London ; yet 
sure I am he would have done better to give 
himself up, and so have obtained a pardon 
after reasonable delay. As is Mr. Forster, so 



256 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

are the other gentlemen, who are all afraid, 
and with reason. I except my Lord Derwent- 
water, who would have had us wait — hut his 
hand was forced. Pray Heaven there he here- 
after no cause for repentance !' 

After the shouting there was much talking 
together and discussion, in which Lord 
Derwentwater took little part, standing silent 
and contemplative. When everyone had had 
his say, mostly in a confused bahble, there 
was silence, and Colonel Oxhrough was heard 
recommending or suggesting. At last all was 
resolved upon. On the following morning 
they were all to repair to the Greenrig Burn, 
there openly to band together in the name of 
King James. 

So they parted ; Lord Derwentwater with 
the Countess, Mr. Errington, Sir William 
Swinburne (it was lucky for Sir William that 
he was persuaded by his lordship to go home, 
and to stay there awhile), his two brothers, 
Lord Widdrington with his two brothers, and 
two or three more, rode back to Dilston ; 
Tom, flushed and excited, to Blanchland, with 
the rest of his friends, among whom, I forgot 
to mention, was Mr. Patten. 



THE MEETING AT GREENRIG, 257 

* Sir/ said this worthy minister, * I now 
venture to ask a favour of your honour.' 

' What is it ?' asked Tom ; ' I think this is 
a time for action, not for asking favours/ 

^ It is, sir, that your honour, who, I hear, 
will receive the King's commission to com- 
mand his Majesty's forces in England, will 
be graciously pleased ' — here he bowed down 
to the ground — 'to confer upon me, un- 
worthy as I am, the office of chaplain to your 
honour.' 

' Why,' said Tom, * if that be all, my 
chaplain shalt thou be. And you, Tony, 
don't look glum. Think you that there shall 
be no more feasting and drinking ? Wait, 
man, till we have got the Prince to St. 
James's, and then will we make a night 
of it !' 

' At such a juncture,' said Mr. Patten 
severely, ' Mr. Hilyard can surely think of 
something besides drinking and playing the 
fool.' 

*I think, besides,' said Mr. Hilyard, 'of 
Kehoboam and his counsellors.' 

* Dare you maintain, sir ' 

'Hark ye, sir!' Mr. Hilyard replied; 
VOL. II, 36 



258 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

* meddle not with me, chaplain or no 
chaplain. The only favour I ask of his 
honour is that I may follow him and serve 
him in the field as I have served him at home. 
I dare say I shall be able to carry a musket 
as well as any ploughboy in the ranks.' 

'You to fight! Oh, Mr. Hilyard!' I ex- 
claimed. 

' Nay, sister,' said Tom, * all shall go who 
will. Yet I drag none against his inclination. 
Tony, give me thy hand, honest friend. 
Fight beside me, or stay at home with 
Dorothy, as thou wilt. If we come well out 
of this, old friend, of which I make no doubt, 
thou shalt see I am not ungrateful. My 
poverty thou knowest, but not my wish to 
reward thee for all these years of service.' 

The tears came into Mr. Hilyard's eyes; 
he looked as if he would have spoken, but 
refrained. 

They had a merry evening, after all, with 
shouting enough for the whole of the great 
army they were going to raise, and Mr. Hil- 
yard singing as if he was the most red-hot 
Jacobite among them all. Perhaps at the 
moment, with the whisky punch before him, 



THE MEETING AT GREENRIG. 259 

and amid the shouts and applause of his 
friends, he thought he was. 

It is not for my feehle pen to write a 
history of the events which followed. What 
do I know of armies and of battles ? I stayed 
at Blanchland alone, except for my maid and 
the rustics of that retired place, seeing no 
one save from time to time when I rode across 
the moor to Dilston, and learned all that 
the Countess could tell me, which was little. 
Had we been able to look into the future, 
which is mercifully withheld from us, we 
should have been wretched indeed. "Women 
can only believe what they are told. Did 
not Colonel Oxbrough promise a general 
rising ? We were strong in hope, having 
little fear for the issue, but only for the 
chances of battle. Victory was certain, but 
brave men must die before the trumpets of the 
victors blow. 

In the morning early the gentlemen were in 
the saddle. 

' Courage, Dorothy !' said Tom ; ' we are 
going to certain victory. Farewell, dear 
lass.' 

So he bent from his saddle and kissed me, 

36—2 



26o DOROTHY FORSTER. 

and then clattered away under the old arch, 
and rode off gaily with his friends. The 
next time I saw Tom he was again with his 
friends, hut, alas ! in different guise. 

The last to go was Mr. Hilj^ard, equipped 
for the first time in his life with a musket and 
a sword, and two great horse-pistols stuck in 
his holsters ; hut he showed little confidence 
in these weapons. 

' So, Miss Dorothy,' he said, ' I go 
a- fighting. For myself, I have little stomach 
for the sport. I think we be all fools together. 
Heaven send us safe home again ! Phew ! 
I am sick already of bullets, as well as of 
marching and shouting. Farew^ell, sweet 
mistress. Alas ! shall I ever come back to 
be your servant again ?' 



CHAPTEK XXV. 

THE FIRST DAYS. 

Needs must that I say somewhat concerning 
the first days of this unlucky RebelHon, 
because many things fooHsh and false have 
been said and written concerning its early 
beginning. And first, it is most true that 
not one gentleman joined (except, perhaps, 
the Earl) who was not possessed beforehand 
of a general knowledge (I say general, not 
full and particular) of the design, and had 
pledged his honour to carry it out when called 
upon. Yet nothing was decided upon until 
the meeting, wherefore all spoke truth in 
saying at their trials that the business was 
not premeditated. This being so, I hope 
that no one will repeat the idle accusation 
which has been brought against my brother 
that he drew them all in. In truth, there 



262 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

came but two who can be fairly charged upon 
him. One of these was Mr. Craster of 
Craster, and the other his cousin, Tom 
Forster, afterwards hanged at Liverpool. 
Lastly, I declare that not one among them 
all would have moved but for the things they 
were told by the secret messengers, such as 
Oxbrough, Gascoigne, and Talbot — I mean 
such things as have been already repeated 
concerning the temper of the country. Never 
was a company of honourable gentlemen (as I 
have since fully learned) so vilely deceived 
and betrayed to their own destruction as these 
unfortunate gentlemen of Northumberland. 
Had I known then what now I know, I would 
myself have stabbed Colonel Oxbrough to the 
heart with my scissors. For there was no 
rising in the West of England at all, and only 
a riot or two in the Midland Counties ; nor 
any rising in Ireland, where most we ex- 
pected and looked for one ; and as for the 
great promises which we had, it will be seen 
presently to how much they amounted. Yet 
the poor gentleman may himself have been 
deceived, and in the end he met his death 
with great fortitude. 



THE FIRST DAYS. 263 

There were about twenty gentlemen who 
rode out with Tom. They were, if I remember 
rightly, Mr, William Clavering, of Callalee, 
and his brother John ; Mr. George Colling- 
wood ; four Shaftoes — namely, Mr. William 
Shafto, of Bavington, and three others ; Mr. 
George Gibson ; Dick Stokoe ; Mr. George 
Sanderson, of Highlee, and Mr. William 
Sanderson; Mr. Will Charleton the younger, 
of the Tower; Mr. John Hunter; Mr. William 
Craster ; my cousin, Thomas Forster ; Mr. 
Thomas Lisle ; Mr. Thomas Eiddle the 
younger, of Swinburne Castle ; Mr. John 
Crofts, of Wooler ; Mr. John Beaumont ; Mr. 
Robert Cotton, and Mr« John Cotton, his son. 
With them rode Mr. Patten and Mr. Hilyard, 
the former sw^elling like a bishop (as he 
already thought himself), in a new cassock 
and great wig, and the latter riding last, with 
anxious face. Some of them rode out from 
Blanchland, but most came from Hexham. 

They made no stay at Greenrig, but, think- 
ing the place inconvenient, they rode on to 
the top of an adjacent hill, called the Water- 
falls, whence they presently discerned Lord 
Derwentwater apprpaching with his friends. 



264 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

It hath been reported, and I have never heard 
to the contrary, that on the evening before he 
left the home to which he was to return no 
more, and in the grounds of his house, the 
Earl met a ghost, or spirit, who spoke to him, 
and promised (being one of those spirits who 
are permitted to tell the truth with intent to 
lead astray) that he should never fall in 
battle. I know not how this may be : I saw 
and spoke with my lord but once again, and 
he made no mention of this circumstance. 
But I am well assured that all night long his 
favourite dog howled and cried ; and, when 
he mounted his horse in the morning, the 
creature reared and backed, and could not be 
persuaded to advance; which makes me think 
that a friendly spirit barred the way, as was 
done unto Balaam a long time ago — only, in 
this case, the angel became not visible ; and, 
when one of the grooms led the horse forward, 
he fell to trembling, and became covered with 
sweat and foam. Moreover, my lord found, 
soon after starting, that the ring which he 
always wore (it had been his grandmother's 
gift to him) was lost or left behind. In spite 
of these ill omens and manifest warnings, he 



THE FIRST DAYS. 265 

bore himself with a cheerful countenance ; 
and, if he had misgivings, communicated none 
of them to those around him, who were, 
indeed, a joyful company, laughing and racing 
as they rode. He had with him his brother 
Charles; Lord Widdrington and his two 
brothers; Mr. Edward Howard, brother of the 
Duke of Norfolk; Mr. Walter Tancred, 
brother of Sir Thomas ; Sir William Swin- 
burne's two brothers, Ned and Charles ; Lord 
Widdrington's brother-in-law, Mr. Richard 
Townley ; Mr. Errington, of Beaufront ; Mr. 
PhiHp Hudson, uncle to Lord Widdrington ; 
and one or two others. The numbers of 
the gentlemen thus joined together amounted 
in all to about sixty horsemen, of whom 
twenty were servants. This was not, to be 
sure, a large force with which to take the 
field against King George's armies. But they 
expected no more at the beginning, and rode 
north that day to Rothbury, the news of what 
was doing spreading like wildfire through the 
country. At Rothbury their numbers w^ere 
much increased ; though, for the present, 
they would enlist none of the country people, 
only bade them sit down and wait, for their 



266 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

time should come before long. Now this, 
Mr. Hilyard hath alwaj^s maintained, was their 
first and capital error ; for they should have 
listed all who came that were able to carry 
pike and firelock, and not to have refused 
any. Then, whether their army were well or 
ill-equipped, the fame and rumour of the 
great numbers flocking to them would have 
been spread abroad, and so many thousands 
encouraged to enlist. Besides, those who 
would have joined, on seeing the gallant show 
of gentlemen and their mighty following, lost 
heart, or became cold, when they had passed 
by, and remembered only the danger when 
their offers to join might have been accepted 
with joy. However, this was only one of 
the many mistakes made, Colonel Oxbrough, 
the principal adviser, being one who knew 
not the country, and vainly imagined that the 
rustics of Northumberland are as hostile to 
the Government, and as full of hatred, as are 
the wild kernes of Ireland, which was a great 
mistake to make. 

Next day, being Saturday, the 7th of 
October, they marched upon Warkworth ; and 
there, at the gates of the old castle, the 



THE FIRST DAYS. 267 

General (no other than Tom), wearing a 
mask — but why, I know not, because all 
the world knew him — proclaimed King James 
III. of Great Britain. It was done with 
trumpet and drum, and one acting as herald 
(I suspect, Mr. Hilyard ; but he hath never 
avowed the fact). On the next day, being 
Sunday, the General sent orders to Mr. Ion, 
vicar of the parish, that he should pray for 
King James ; and, on his infusing, commanded 
Mr. Buxton, Chaplain of the Forces (Mr. 
Patten being, as it were. Domestic Chaplain 
to the General), to read the service, which 
was done, and a very stirring sermon was 
preached, full of exhortations to be manful to 
the cause, and to fight valiantly. On 
Monday, the 10th, they rode to Morpeth, 
and there received seventy gentlemen from 
over the Border. They were now 300 
strong, and all gentlemen. Had they 
taken all who offered, they might have 
been 3,000 strong. Here they were all 
rejoiced by the news that Mr. Launcelot 
Errington, with half a dozen companions, 
had boldly captured the castle on Holy 
Island. They did not hold it long ; but 



268 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

it is by such feats of bravery that the 
hearts of others are uplifted. If they could 
keep the place, they could signal friends 
at sea, who were expected daily, with supplies 
of arms and officers. At Morpeth they again 
proclaimed the Chevalier. Here they were 
joined by a good many other gentlemen ; 
but still they refused the common people. 
Now, considering that foot soldiers are the 
greatest and most important part of an army, 
it seems madness not to have taken them. 
' A dozen times,' Mr. Hilyard hath said 
since, * was I tempted to proffer my humble 
counsel to the General ; but refrained, see- 
ing that I was the lowest of the gentlemen 
volunteers, and he now surrounded by noble- 
men and officers. Yet I would to Heaven 
I had had but a single hour with him alone 
over a pipe, as in the old days, when he 
would honour me by asking my mind !' 

Another dreadful mistake, though one 
which was afterwards pleaded in excuse, 
was that the gentlemen did not bring with 
them every man that could be raised. Lord 
Derwentwater, for example, could have raised 
and armed well-nigh a thousand men ; yet he 



THE FIRST DAYS, 269 

brought none with him, except half a dozen 
servants. 

' They were struck/ said Mr. Hilyard after- 
wards in London, ^ with that kind of madness, 
in virtue of which men do nothing right, 
but see everything as through a distorted 
glass, and so commit one fault after another, 
and do all wrong. It is not a phrensy, 
ecstasy, or the fury which comes from love, 
study, or rehgious fury, but one which deprives 
the reason of judgment, the body being sound 
and well ; and is, I doubt not, a demoniacal 
possession, permitted for high purposes by 
Heaven itself, against which we ought to 
pray. Who but madmen would have refused 
to enHst the common sort ? Who but mad- 
men would have left behind them their own 
people, who were an army ready to hand ? 
Who but such would have gone into a 
campaign without arms, ammunition, ordnance, 
provisions, or any thought for supplying 
them ?' 

Their first design was to get possession of 
Newcastle, of which town they had great 
hopes ; and they sent Charles Eadclilfe for- 
ward with a troop of horse to take and hold 



270 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

Felton Bridge, which was done with great 
valour. 

And here they met with their first disap- 
pointment, expecting that Newcastle would 
open its gates to them, whereas, on the 
contrary, the gates of that city were closed 
tight, and the citizens and keelmen armed, 
and the friends of the Prince had to lie snug 
and quiet. There is no doubt that they were 
promised the town would receive them, and a 
great accession to their strength it would 
have been, being strongly fortified, rich, 
populous, and inhabited by a sturdy and 
valiant race of men, most of whom would 
have followed the rising tide of success. 
However, this failed, and on the 18th of 
October the town was occupied by General 
Carpenter with Hotham's Regiment of Foot, 
and Cobham's, Molesworth's, and Churchiirs 
Dragoons. Meantime, therefore, the insur- 
gents withdrew to Hexham, where they stayed 
three days, the men billeted upon the inhabi- 
tants, but all well-behaved and among friends, 
though the vicar refused, like Mr. Ion 
of Warkworth, to pray for King James. 
Here the joyful news came that Lord Ken- 



THE FIRST DAYS. 271 

mure, with the Earls of Nithsdale, Carnwath, 
and Wintoun had taken arms in the south of 
Scotland, and had set up the King's standard 
(worked by LadyKenmure, very handsome in 
blue silk, with white pennants) in the town of 
Moffat. After a little marching and enlisting 
they crossed over the Cheviots, Lord Kenmure 
commanding, and came to Eothbury, whence 
they sent a message to General Forster to know 
his mind. The latter replied that he would 
join them, and accordingly the English forces 
marched north and joined the Scotch ; after 
which they crossed the Border again and 
went to Kelso, where, on the Sunday, Mr. 
Patten preached a very stirring sermon from 
the text, * The right of the firstborn is his,' 
handling the subject, as Mr. Hilyard assures 
me, most masterly. 

On the Monday the men were drawn up in 
the market-place, where, the colours flying, 
the drums beating, and the bagpipes playing, 
the King was solemnly proclaimed, and the 
Earl of Mar's manifesto read aloud. Their 
army consisted now of about 1,500 foot and 
700 horse, to oppose whom General Carpenter 
had no more than 900 men, horse and foot, 



272 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

and these raw soldiers for the most part. 
There were, therefore, two courses open to them 
— I mean sensible courses — either they might 
march northwards and attack the Duke of 
Argyll's army in the rear, which would greatly 
strengthen the Earl of Mar and embolden his 
followers ; or they might cross the Border 
again and fall upon General Carpenter before 
he got any reinforcements. Thus would they 
strike a most telling blow, and one that would 
encourage the whole party in England. But 
alas ! counsels were divided ; there were 
jealousies between Scots and English; the 
Scottish officers refused to enter England, 
while the English w^ould not enter Scotland. 
They therefore marched without purpose or 
aim, except, as it seemed to friends and foes 
alike, with intent to escape General Carpenter, 
along the northern slopes of the Cheviots, 
until they came to Langholm in Eskdale, 
where it was resolved, against the opinion of 
Lord Derwentwater, to invade Lancashire, 
most of the gentlemen believing (on the faith 
of promises and the assurances of the Irish 
officers) that in this Catholic county 20,000 
men would rise and join them. The sequel 



THE FIRST DAYS. 273 

shows how much reliance could be placed on 
these assurances. On the way south a good 
many of the Scots deserted and went home ; 
on Penrith Fell they encountered, being then 
about 1,700 strong, the whole body of militia, 
called together and arrayed by the sheriff, 
armed with pitchforks, pikes, and all kinds of 
rustic weapons. They numbered 10,000, but 
at sight of the insurgents they turned and ran 
without a blow being struck. It was a blood- 
less victory, and ought to have raised the 
spirits of our men ; but it did not, because the 
leaders were already dashed (and showed it 
in their bearing) by the smallness of their 
numbers and their own dissensions. The 
only men among them all, Mr. Hilyard tells 
me, who kept their cheerfulness were Charles 
Eadcliffe, Colonel Oxbrough, whose courage 
and calmness no misfortunes could depress, 
and Mr. Patten, who, until the end came, 
could not believe that an army in which were 
so many noblemen and gentlemen could fail 
to be victorious. After occupying Appleby, 
and obtaining a good number of horses, 
also saddles, firelocks, and other useful things, 
they were joined by some of the Catliolic 
VOL. II. 37 



274 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

families of Lancashire, together with a few 
Protestants; but as for the 20,000 men who 
were to rally round them, they were nowhere 
visible. At Appleby about 500 Scotsmen 
deserted the camp, and marched homewards 
again, selling their guns as they went for 
food. Among them were sixteen or seventeen 
gentlemen of Teviotdale, who liked not the 
prospect. I would to Heaven that every man 
had deserted, and the whole army had melted 
away ! From Appleby they marched to 
Kendal, where Tom's godmother, Mrs. 
Bellingham, was living ; but she refused to 
see her godson, being all for the Protestant 
Succession. From Kendal they made for 
Lancaster, which they entered on the 7th of 
November, and there, indeed, they expected 
great additions, but I cannot hear that many 
came in. They stayed at Lancaster for three 
days, and were hospitably received by the 
ladies, who dressed themselves in their bravest, 
and invited the gentlemen to drink tea with 
them. On the 10th of November they reached 
Preston — which was to prove the end of their 
invasion. Here they were joined by nearly a 
thousand Catholics and their followers. And, 



THE FIRST DAYS. 275 

as I have enumerated most of the Northum- 
berland gentlemen, let me also set down some 
of these Lancashire names who, to their 
honour, were so loyal to their Prince. They 
were Mr. Eichard Chorley, of Chorley, and his 
son Charles (the father shot at Liverpool, and 
the son died in gaol) ; Mr. Ealph Standish 
(pardoned) ; Mr. Francis Anderton (sentenced, 
but pardoned, though I believe he lost his 
estate of ^2,000 a year) ; Mr. John Dalton 
and Mr. Edward Tildesly (both pardoned) ; 
Mr. Eichard Butler, of Eaclife (died in New- 
gate), and Mr. John Beaumont (escaped) ; Mr. 
Hodgson, of Leighton Hall ; Mr. Dalton, of 
Thurnham; Mr. Hilton, of Cartmel ; Mr. 
Butler, of Eowcliff ; and others whose names 
I have been told, but have forgotten. I must 
not omit the unfortunate Mr. William Paul, 
clerk, Master of Arts, of St. John's College, 
Cambridge. This poor man, the Vicar of 
Horton-on-the-Hill, Leicestershire, gave up 
his living, and trudged north, dressed in a 
blue coat, laced hat, long wig, and sword, as 
if he was a layman, to join the army (and 
meet an ignominious death, as it proved, upon 
the scaffold), and all, I believe, because his 

37—2 



276 DOROTHY FORSTER, 

old friend Tom Forster, who was kind to him 
when he was a poor scholar of St. John's 
College, Cambridge, was General. He not 
only joined the army, but he did excellent 
service in bringing news of General Carpenter's 
strength and movements. 

At Preston great hopes were raised, so 
many coming in, whose rebellion of a day or 
two cost them dear. Reports were brought 
from Manchester that the leading people in 
the town were well-disposed towards the 
Prince. Lord Derwentwater himself went 
thither secretly, and held a meeting with 
some of the gentlemen there in order to 
arrange for a rising, but I have not heard with 
what success. Then it was expected that the 
Duke of Ormond would have joined them with 
at least 3,000 men. I know not, nor have ever 
been able to learn, why nothing was done in 
Ireland or in the West of England. Oppor- 
tunities lost never return, and although I am 
convinced that never in the history of the 
world were gentlemen more deceived, yet I 
cannot understand why, the cause itself being 
so righteous, the end was not more successful. 
All might have gone well. Alas ! where was 



THE FIRST DAYS. 277 

the prudence ? The English General (my 
poor brother) had no military knowledge, and, 
though he was advised by Colonel Oxbrough, 
the lords and gentlemen of the council were 
too proud to be led by him, and Tom was not 
strong enough to command. How could he 
command his old friends and fellows against 
their will ? 

Meantime, while they were considering 
whether they should advance on Liverpool, 
General Willes had joined General Carpenter, 
and was marching on Preston, resolved 
to attack the rebels with such forces as 
he had. Look now ! King George's troops 
were but 1,000 in all, or 1,200 at the most, 
and the insurgents had nigh upon 3,000 ! 
Doth it not make one's blood boil to think 
how, being more than twice their enemy in 
number, brave men's lives were thrown away, 
and a righteous cause destroyed ? But to 
enumerate the mistakes made by our people 
makes me sure that the blessing of Heaven 
was withheld from the very first, we know not 
why, and it is well not to inquire too closely. 
Weak human wit cannot discover why the 
Eight doth npt always triumph, or why, for 



278 DOROTHY FORSTER. 

the sins of princes, the people should be 
punished. 

' I know not/ said Mr. Hilyard, * what was 
said and proposed at the councils of war, 
save that Mr. Charles Eadcliffe came from 
them always in a rage, and the Earl hanging 
his head, and the General troubled and per- 
plexed. I think that if Colonel Oxbrough's 
advice had been taken, things would have put 
on a different face. A quiet and resolute 
gentleman, who at the worst never showed the 
least resentment when his advice was not 
taken, nor any indignation when Scots and 
English quarrelled, nor spoke an evil word 
against those who broke their promises, but 
took all as part of the day's work, and went to 
the gallows as calmly as he went on parade. 
This it is, methinks, to be a soldier !' 



END OF VOL. II. 



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Grotesque in Art, Literature, 
Sculpture, and Painting. Profusely 
Illustrated by F. W. Fairholt, 
F.S.A. Large post Svo, cloth extra, 
7s. 6d. 

Yates (Edmund), Novels by: 

Post Svo, illustrated boards 2s. each. 
Castaway. 
The Forlorn Hope. 
Land at Last. 



CHATTO &- W INDUS, PICCADILLY. 



27 



NOVELS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 

At every Library. 



Princess Napraxine. Bv Ouida. 
Three Vols. ' [Shatly. 

Dorothy Forstep. By Wai.tkr 
Besant. Three Vols. ^Shortly. 

The New Abelard. By Robkkt Bu- 
chanan. Three Vols. 

Fancy-Free, &c. By Charles Gibbon. 
Three Vols. 

Jone. E. Lynn Linton. Three Vols. 

The Way of the World. By D. Chris- 
tie Murray. Three Vols. 



Maid of Athens. By JustinMcCarthv, 

-M.P. With 12 Illustrations by Fred. 

Barnard. Three Vols. 
The Canon's Ward. By James Payn. 

Three Vols. 
A Real Queen. By R. E. Francillon. 

Three Vols. 
A New Collection of Stories by 

Charles Reade. Three Vols. 

[In preparation. 



THE PICCADILLY NOVELS. 

Popular Stciics by the Best Authors. Library Editions, many Illustrated 
crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each. ' 



BY MRS. ALEXAXDER. 
Maid, Wife, or Widow ? 

BY W. BESAXT & JAMES RICE. 
Ready-Money Mortlboy. 
My Little Girl. 
The Case of Mr. Lucraft. 
This Son of Vulcan. 
With Harp and Crown. 
The Golden Butterfly. 
By Celiacs Arbour. 
The Monks of Thelema. 
'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay. 
The Seamy Side. 
The Ten Years'JTenant. 
The Chaplain of the Fleet. 

BY WALTER BESAXT. 
All Sortsand Conditions of Men. 
The Captains" Room. 

BY ROBERT BCCIIAXAX. 
A Child of Nature. 
God and the Man. 
The Shadow"of the Sword. 
The Martyrdom of Madeline. 
Love Me for Ever. 

BY MRS. H. LOVETT CAMEROX 
Deceivers Ever. 
Juliet's Guardian. 



BY MORTIMER COLLI XS. 

Sweet Anne Page. 

Transmigration. 

From Midnight to Midnight. 
MORTIMER & FRAXCES COLLIXS. 

Blacksmith and Scholar. 

The Village Comedy. 

You Play me False. 

BY WILKIE COLLIXS. 
Antonina. New Magdalen, 

^^sil. 1 The Frozen Deep. 

Hide and Seek. j The Law and the 
The Dead Secret 



Lady. 
TheTwo Destinies 
Haunted Hotel 
The Fallen Leaves 
JezebeisDaughter 
The Black Robe. 
Heart and Science 



Queen of Hearts. 
My Miscellanies. 
Woman in V/hite. 
The Moonstone. 
Man and Wife. 
Poor Miss Finch. 
Miss or Mrs. ? 

BY DUTTOX COOK. 
Paul Foster's Daughter 

BY WILLIAM CYPLES. 
Hearts of Gold. 

BY JAMES DE MILLE. 
A Castle in Spain. 

BY J. LEITH DERWEXT 
Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers. 



28 



BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 



Piccadilly Novels, continued — 
BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
Felicia. | Kitty. 

BY MRS. ANNIE EDIVARDES. 
Archie Loveff. 

BY R. E. FRANCILLON. 
Olympia. | Queen Cophetua. 

One by One. 

Prefaced by Sir BARTLE FRERE. 
Pandurang Hari. 

BY EDWARD GARRETT. 
The Capel G/rls. 

BY CHARLES GIBBON. 
Robin Gray. 
For Lack of Gold. 
In Love and War. 
What will the World Say? 
For the King. 
In Honour Bound. 
Queen of the Meadow, 
In Pastures Green. 
The Flower of the Forest. 
A Heart's Problem. 
The Braes of Yarrow. 
The Golden Shaft. 
Of High Degree. 

BY THOMAS HARDY. 
Under the Greenwood Tree. 

BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE. 
Garth. 

Eliice Quentin. 
Sebastian Strome. 
Prince Saronis Wife. 
Dust. 
Fortunes Fool. 

BY SIR A. HELPS. 
Ivan de Biron, 

BY MRS. ALFRED HUNT. 
Thornicroft's Model. 
The Leaden Casket. 
Self Condemned. 

BY JEAN INGELOW. 
Fated to be Free. 

BY HENRY JAMES, Jun. 
Confidence. 

BY HARRIETT JAY. 
The Queen of Connaught. 
The Dark Cotleen. 

BY HENRY KINGSLEY, 
Number Seventeen. 



Piccadilly Novels, centinued — 
BY E. LYNN LINTON. 
Patricia Kemball. 
Atonement of Leam Dundas. 
The World Well Lost. 
Under which Lord ? 
With a Silken Thread. 
The Rebel of the Family. 
'■ My Love ! " 

BY HENRY W. LUCY. 
Gideon Fleyce. 

BY JUSTIN McCarthy, m.p. 

The V/aterdale Neighbours. 
My Enemy's Daughter. 
Liniey Rochford. | A Fair Saxon, 
Dear Lady Disdain. 
Miss Misanthrope. 
Donna Quixote. 
The Comet of a Season. 
BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D, 
Paul Faber, Surgeon. 
Thomas Wingfold, Curate. 

BY MRS. MACDONELL. 
Quaker Cousins. 

BY KATHARINE S. MACQUOID. 
Lost Rose. I The Evil Eye. 

BY FLORENCE MARRY AT. 
I Open : Sesame ! | Written in Fire 

BY JEAN MIDDLEMASS. 
Touch and Go. 

BY D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 
Life's Atonement. I Coals of Fire. 
Joseph's Coat. ; Val Strange. 

A Model Father. | Hearts. 
By the Gate of the Sea. 

BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
Whiteladies. 

BY MARGARET A. PAUL 
Gentle and Simple. 

BY JAMES PAYN. 
Lost Sir Massing- High Spirits. 



berd. 
Best of Husbands 
Fallen Fortunes. 
Halves. 

Walters Word. 
What He Cost Her 
Less Black than 

Were Painted. 
By Proxy. 



Under One Roof 
Carlyon's Year 
A Confidentiar 

Agent. 
From Exile. 
A Grape from 

Thorn. 
For Cash Only- 
Kit : A Memory. 



CHATTO &- \V INDUS, PICCADILLY. 



■^y 



Piccadilly Novels, continued— 
BY E. C. PRICE. 
Valentina. 
The Foreigners. 
BY CHARLES KEADE, D.C.L. 
It Is Never Too Late to Mend. 
Hard Cash. i Peg Woffington. 

hristie Johnstone. 
Griffith Gaunt. 
The Double Marriage. 
Love Me Little, Love Me Long. 
Foul Play. 

The Cloister and the Hearth. 
The Course of True Love. 
The Autobiography of a Thief. 
Put Yourself in His Place. 
A Terrible Temptation. 
The Wandering Heir. [ A Simpleton. 
A Woman Hater. | Readiana. 

BY MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 
Her Mothers Darling. 
Prince of Wales's GardenParty. 

BY F. W. ROBINSON. 
Women are Strange. 
The Hands of Justice. 

;;y john saunders. 

Bound to the Wheel. 
Guy Waterman. 
One Against the World. 
The Lion in the Path 
The Two Dreamers. 



Picr.\DiLLV NovrLS, continued — 
BY T. W. SPEIGHT. 
The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. 

BY R. A. STERNDALE. 
The Afghan Knife. 

BY BERTHA THOMAS 
Proud Maisie. [ Cressida. 
The Violin Playe". 

BY ANTHONY TROLLOFE 
The Way we Live Now. 
The American Senator. 
Frau Frohmann. 
Marion Fay. 
Kept in the Dark. 
Mr. Scarborough's Family. 
The Land Leaguers. 

BY FRANCES E. TROLI.OPE. 
Like Ships upon the Sea. 
Anne Furness. 
Mabel's Progress. 

BY T. A. TROLLOPE. 
Diamond Cut Diamond. 
By IVAN TURGENIEFF and Others. 
Stories from Foreign Novelists. 

BY SARAH TYTLER 
What She Came Through. 
The Bride's Pass. 

BY J. S. WINTER. 
Cavalry Life. 
Regimental Legends. 



CHEAP EDITIONS OF 

Post 8vo, illustrated 

BY EDMOND ABOUT. 
The Fellah. 

BY HAMILTON AIDE. 
Carr of Carrlyon. I Confidences. 

BY MRS: ALEXANDER. 
Maid, Wife, or Widow ? 
BY SHELSLEY BEAUCHAMP. 
Grantley Grange. 

BY IV. BESANT & JAMES RICE. 
Ready-Money Mortiboy. 
With Harp and Crown. 
This Son of Vulcan. 
My Little Girl. 
The Case of Mr. Lucraft. 
he Golden Butterfly. 



POPULAR NOVELS. 

boards, 2s. each. 

By Bes.\nt and Rice, continued — 

By Celia's Arbour. 

The Monks of Thelema. 

'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay. 

The Seamy Side. 

The Ten Years' Tenant. 

The Chaplain of the Fleet 

All Sorts and Conditions of Men. 

The Captains' Room. 

BY FREDERICK BOYLE. 
Camp Notes, j Savage I ife. 

BY BRET II ARTE. 
An Heiress of Red Dog. 
The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
Californian Stories. 
Gabriel Conroy. | Flip 



30 



BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 



Cheap Popular Novels, continued— 
BY ROBERT BUCHANAN. 

The Shadow of the Sword. 

A Child of Nature. 

God and the Man. 

The Martyrdom of Madeline. 

Love Me for Ever. 

BY MRS. BURNETT. 

Surly Tim. 

BY MRS. LOVETT CAMERON. 

Deceivers Ever. | Juliets Guardian. 
BY M ACL A REN COBBAN. 

The Cure of Souls. 

BY C. ALLSTON COLLINS. 

The Bar Sinister. 

BY WILKIE COLLINS. 
Antonina. Miss or Mrs. ? 

Basil. The New Magda- 

Hide and Seek. len. 

The Dead Secret. The Frozen Deep. 
Queen of Hearts. Law and the Lady. 
My Miscellanies. TheTwo Destinies 
Woman in V/hite. Haunted Hotel. 
The Moonstone. The Fallen Leaves. 
Man and Wife. JezebelsDaughter 

Poor Miss Finch. The Black Robe. 
BY MORTIMER COLLINS. 

Sweet Anne Page. 

Transmigration. 

From Midnight to Midnight. 

A Fight with Fortune. 

MORTIMER & FRANCES COLLINS. 
Sweet and Twenty. | Frances. 
Blacksmith and Scholar. 
The Village Comedy. 
You Play me False. 

BY BUTTON COOK. 
Leo. I Paul Fosters Daughter. 

BY J. LEITH DERWENT. 
Ou Lady of Tears. 

BY CHARLES DICKENS. 
Sketches by Boz. 
The Pickwick Papers. 
Oliver Twist. 
Nicholas Nickleby. 
BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDES. 
A Point of Honour. I Archie Lovell. 

BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
Felicia. | Kitty. 

BY EDWARD EGGLESTON. 
Roxy. 



Cheap Popular Novels, continued— 
BY PERCY FITZGERALD. 
Bella Donna. | Never Forgotten. 
The Second Mrs. Tillotson. 
Polly. 

Seventy-five Brooke Street. 
BY ALBANY DE FONBLANQUE. 
Filthy Lucre. 

BY R. E. FRANCILLON. 
Olympia. | Queen Cophetua. 

One by One. 
Prefaced by Siy H. BARTLE FRERE. 
Pandurang Hari. 

BY HAIN FRISWELL. 
One of Two. 

BY EDWARD GARRETT. 
The Capel Girls. 

BY CHARLES GIBBON. 



Queen of the Mea- 
dow. 
In Pastures Green 
The Flower of the 

Forest. 
A Heart's Problem 
The Braes of Yar- 
row. 



Robin Gray. 

For Lack of Gold. 

What will the 

World Say? 
In Honour Bound. 
The Dead Heart. 
In Love and War. 
For the King. 

BY WILLIAM GILBERT. 
Dr. Austin's Guests. 
The Wizard of the Mountain. 
James Duke. 

BY yAMES GREENWOOD. 
Dick Temple. 

BY ANDREW HALLIDAY. 
Every Day Papers. 

BY LADY DUFF US HARDY. 
Paul V/ynters Sacrifice. 

BY THOMAS HARDY. 
Under the Greenwood Tree. 
BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE. 
Garth. i Sebastian Strome 

Ellice Quentin. | Dust. 
Prince Saronis Wife. 

BY SIR ARTHUR HELPS. 
Ivan de Biron. 

BY TOM HOOD. 
A Golden Heart. 

BY MRS. GEORGE HOOPER. 
The House of Raby. 

BY VICTOR HUGO. 
The Hunchback of Notre Dame. 



CHATTO &- W INDUS, PICCADILLY . 



31 



Cheap Popular Novels, continued — 

BY MRS. ALFRED HUNT. 
Thopnicroft's Model. 
The Leaden Casket. 
Self Condemned. 

BY JEAN INGELOW. 
Fated to be Free. 

BY HARRIETT JAY. 
The Dark Colleen. 
The Queen of Connaught. 

BY HENRY KINGSLEY. 
Oakshott Castle. | Number Seventeen 

BY E. LYNN LL\TON. 
Patricia Kemball. 
The Atonement of Learn Dundas. 
The World Well Lost. 
Under which Lord ? 
With a Silken Thread. 
The Rebel of the Family. 
" My Love ! " 

BY HENRY W. LUCY. 
Gideon Fleyce. 

BY JUSTIN McCarthy, m.p. 

Dear Lady Disdain. 

The V/aterdale Neighbours. 

My Enemy's Daughter. 

A Fair Saxon. 

Linley Rochford. 

Miss Misanthrope. 

Donna Quixote. 

The Comet of a Season. 

BY GEORGE MACDONALD. 
Paul Faber, Surgeon. 
Thomas Wingfold, Curate. 

BY MRS. MACDONELL. 
Quaker Cousins. 

BY KATHARINE S. MACQUOID. 
The Evil Eye. | Lost Rose. 

BY W. H. MALLOCK. 
The New Republic. 

BY FLORENCE MARRY AT. 

Open! Sesame! I A Little Stepson. 

A Harvest of Wild Fighting the Air. 

Oats. ' Written in Fire. 

BY J. MASTERMAN. 
Half-a-dozen Daughters. 

BY JEAN MIDDLEMASS. 
Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorillion. 



Chkap Popular Novels, continued— 
BY D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 
A Life's Atonement. 
A Model Father. 
Joseph's Coat. 
Coals of Fire. 
By the Gate of the Sea. 

BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
Whiteladies. 

BY MRS. ROBERT O'REILLY. 
Phoebe's Fortunes. 

BY OUIDA. 
Held in Bondage. 1 TwoLittleWooden 



Strathmore. 

Chandos. 

Under Two Flags. 

Idalia. 

Cecil Castle- 

maine. 
Tricotrin. 
Puck. 

Folle Farine. 
A Dog of Flanders. 
Pascarel. 

BY MARGARET AGNES PAUL. 
Gentle and Simple. 



Shoes. 

Signa. 

In a Winter City. 

Ariadne. 

Friendship. 

Moths. 

Pipistrello. 

A Village Com- 
mune. 

Bimbi. 

in Maremma. 



BY JAMES PAYN. 



Lost Sir Massing- 
berd. 

A Perfect Trea- 
sure. 

Bentinck's Tutor. 

Murphy's Master. 

A County Family. 

At Her Mercy. 

A Woman's Ven- 
geance. 

Cecil's Tryst. 

Clyffardsof ClyfTe 

The FamilyScape- 
grace. 

Foster Brothers. 

Found Dead. 

Best of Husbands 

Walter's Word. 

Halves. 

Fallen Fortunes. 

What He Cost Her 

HumorousStorles 

Gwendoline's Har 
vest. 

BY EDGAR A. PCE. 
The Mystery of Marie Roget 



Like Father, Like 
Son. 

A Marine Resi- 
dence. 

Married Beneatli 
Him. 

Mirk Abbey. 

Not Wooed, but 

Won. 
£200 Reward. 
Loss Black than 

Were Painted. 
By Proxy. 
Under One Roof. 
High Spirits. 
Carlyons Year. 
A Confidential 

Agent. 
Some Private 

Views. 
From Exile. 
A Grape from a 

Thorn. 
For Cash Only. 



BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CIIATTO &- WIN BUS. 



Cheap Popular Novels, continued— 
BY E. C. PRICE. 

Valcntina. 

BY CHARLES READE. 

Jt is Never Too Late to Mend. 

Hard Cash. 

Peg Woffington. 

Christie Johnstons. 

Griffith Gaunt. 

Put Yourself in His Place. 

The Double Marriage. 

Love Me Little, Love Me Long. 

Foul Play. 

The Cloister and'the Hearth. 

The Course of True Love. 

Autobiography of a Thief. 

A Terrible Temptation. 

The Wandering Heir. 

A Simpleton. 

A Woman-Hater. 
, Readiana. 

BY MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 

Her Mother's Darling. 

Prince of Wales's Garden Party. 

BY F. W. ROBL\'SON. 
Women are Strange. 

BY BAYLE ST. JOHK. 
A Levantine Family. 
BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SAL A. 
Gaslight and Daylight. 

BY JOHN SAU.XDERS. 
Bound to the Wheel. 
One Against the V/orld. 
Guy Waterman. 
The Lion in the Path. 
Two Dreamers. 

BY ARTHUR SKETCHLEY. 
A Match in the Dark. 

■ BY T. W. SPEIGHT. 
The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. 

BY R. A. STERSDALE. 
The Afghan Knife. 

BY R. LOUIS STEl'ENSOX. 
New Arabian Nights. 

BY BERTHA THOMAS. 
Cressida. I Proud Maisie. 

The Violin Player. 

BY W. MOY THOMAS. 
A Fight for Life. 



Cheap Popular Novels, continued— 
BY WALTER THORNBURY. 
Tales for the Marines. 
BY T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOP E. 
Diamond Cut Diamond. 

BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
The Way We Live Now. 
The American Senator. 
Frau Frohmann. 
Marion Fay. 
Kept in the Dark. 
By FRANCES ELEANORTROLLOPE 
Like Ships Upon the Ssa. 
BY MARK TWAiN. 
Tom Sawyer. 
An Idle Excursion. 
A Pleasure Trip on the Continent 

of Europe. 
A Tramp Abroad. 
The Stolen White Elephant. 
BY SARAH TYTLER. 
V/hat She Came Through. 
The Bride's Pass. 

BY J. S. WINTER. 
Cavalry Life. 1 Regimental Legends 

BY LADY WOOD. 
Sabina. 

BY EDMUND YATES. 
Castaway. | The Forloro Hope. 
Land at Last. 

ANONYMOUS. 
Paul Ferroll. 
Why Paul Ferroll Killed his Wife. 

Fcap. 8vo, picture covers, Is. each. 
JefF Briggs's Love Story. By Bret 

Harte. 
The Twins of Table Mountain. By 

Bret Harte, 
Mi's. Gainsborough's Diamonds. Ey 

Julian Hawthorne. 
Kathleen Mavourrj^en. By Author 

of " That Lass o' Lovvrie's.'' 
Lindsay's Luck. By the Author ot 

" That Lass o' Lovvrie's." 
Pretty Polly Pemberton. By the 

Author of "That Lass o' Lowrie's.' 
Trooping with Crows. By Mrs. 

PiRKIS. 

The Professor's Wife. By Leonard 

Graham. 
A Double Bond. By Linda Villari. 
Esther's Gloye. By R. E. Francillon. 
The Garden that Paid the Rent. 

By Tom Jerrold. 



J. OGDEN AND CO„ PRINTERS, IJ2, ST, JOHN STREET; EC. 






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